


Mortality

by Allikizme



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Druids, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Magic, Merlin - Freeform, Merthur - Freeform, Modern Era, Modern Royalty, Romance, Royalty, beware that it is slight merthur, it's not very romance-y, mergana - Freeform, modern merlin, mostly i'm just beating up merlin for poor life decisions, slight romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allikizme/pseuds/Allikizme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emrys is the Druid prince, and after being hidden for years, he has run away to the mortal kingdom. While there, he is Merlin, who accidentally becomes the mortal prince's manservant, enrolls in university, and makes friends. Something he never had back home. But his foolish flight nearly starts a war, and draws the attention of the evil rogue sorceress Nimueh. If he doesn't go home, innocent people might die. But how can he go home? Everything he has is in the mortal world. He doesn't want to be Emrys anymore. He'd much rather be just... Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be in three parts. I will include little bits at the beginning from a sort of bible I've concocted of this world. You don't need to read them, but it will help.

_Part 1: Nimueh_

  
_From the_ Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed._  


_After King Apollo fled the mortal kingdom and established the Druid kingdom, his sole heir was the target of many assassination attempts due to the boy being young and incapable of powerful magic. Because of this the king hid his son from the world until he was a fully realized warlock and ready to take the throne. It has become Druid tradition for the prince to stay anonymous, sometimes even being sent away from the kingdom to train in safety until his coronation._

* * *

 

The dogs skittered across the dried leaves of the forest floor, panting from all the running. Their noses were pressed to the ground, sniffing loudly at the trail they seemed to have lost. In the darkness, it was difficult to see, but the hounds could hear and smell well enough.

Abruptly, one of them caught the faint scent of their prey, and with a howl took off sprinting again.

Behind the dogs came flickering beams of light, soon revealed to be flashlights in the hands of pursuing hunters. They caught up with the hounds easily, dodging the trees as they bolted through the woods. Suddenly the dogs came to a stop again, forcing the men to halt.

Panting, one of them swung his flashlight around. The beam illuminated patches of grass and leaves, and occasionally one of the hounds. “Did we lose him?” he asked.

“No,” responded another. His voice was majestically deep. “He’s still around here.” There was a clicking: the unmistakable sound a gun being cocked. The man raised his arm, pointing the barrel into the trees. “There,” he stated, and he pulled the trigger.

A man—young, thin, barely out of boyhood—gave a terrific cry, and crashed onto the ground. His eyes snapped open and he grunted with pain. The bullet had ripped through his left shoulder, causing him to drop the long, thinly wrapped package in his hands. Hot blood was running down his chest and pooling on the fallen foliage.

Behind him, he could hear the shouts of his hunters. _No,_ he thought, begged. _Not here._ The man forced himself to his feet and darted through the trees. No time to collect what he had dropped. The pain in his arm was excruciating, but he ignored it. As he ran, the color gold flashed in his eyes, illuminating them for only an instant.

There was a creaking noise, and as the man charged through the trees, they began to collapse. Every tree he passed snapped at the trunk or came uprooted completely, falling against each other and blocking his pursuers—hopefully crushing a few in the process.

“Stop!” shouted the man with the gun, and his posse screeched to a halt. One of them was ill positioned, and a tree came down on top of him. The others retreated hastily, slipping on the slick leaves on the floor. “Oh, he’s powerful,” the man said calmly.

Another one of the hunters blinked. “He just _killed_ David!” he cried.

“Be thankful it wasn’t you, Arthur,” the man replied. He swung his flashlight around to shine on the other hunter, revealing him to be young and quite handsome.

“He was our _friend,_ ” Arthur hissed. “Or have you forgotten, Father?”

“He was our colleague, there’s a difference,” his father, the man with the gun, snapped. He glanced down, and shone his light on the leaves under his feet. “Oh,” he said gleefully. “Look at this.”

Immediately the others crowded around, partly out of curiosity and partly out of obligation. In the leaves before them were a few speckles of blood. And not just any blood.

Arthur’s father reached out and dipped his fingers in it. He looked up and saw his son’s disgust, which made him scowl. “Arthur, this is not the blood of a man. He is an animal, understand that.”

“Yes sir,” Arthur replied automatically.

Mildly satisfied, his father returned his gaze to the blood. “Ah, look,” he said, much too happily. He turned the flashlight on his hand, putting the blood in the spotlight. “See?” he whispered. “It shimmers.”

Arthur was entranced. The blood of a magical creature was a sight rarely seen. It was red, like normal blood, but in the light, it had a sort of glimmer about it, like oil. How strangely beautiful, he thought.

“Sire,” one of the men called. Arthur’s father turned the flashlight on him, revealing the man to be holding a thin, long package.

“What’s that?” Arthur queried.

The man handed it to Uther, who looked at it in earnest. Arthur watched by the light of the torch in his hand as his father’s eyes gleaned with excitement. Carefully, he gripped the package in both hands, trying to determine which end was the top.

Arthur’s first thought was that it was a broomstick, since it looked like the broom packages in Harry Potter. He assumed it was a Firebolt or something.

However, as Uther tore off the tip of the wrapping, he saw that he was very, very wrong.

“Oh,” Uther breathed, and there was genuine glee in his eyes. He pulled the stick from the wrapping, revealing the hand-carved and bejeweled staff in its entirety. “Gentlemen, pursue him,” he ordered with a strange note of happiness. “The Druid prince is escaping.”

***

Merlin’s uncle Gaius ran a small clinic that was within walking distance of the Pendragon Institute. He happened to be the extremely trusted physician to the Pendragon family, and well liked by mostly everyone. But right now, Merlin hated him.

“Gah!” Merlin cried in pain, biting on his fist.

Gaius peeled the sleeve of his nephew’s shirt back and frowned. “You tried to heal it with magic, didn’t you?” he sighed.

“Was I not supposed to?” snapped Merlin.

The elderly man gave him a look of disbelief. “Of course not!” he exclaimed. “Merlin, these are anti-magic bullets! Any contact with magic and the wound is worsened tenfold.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Good thing someone told me that, then.” He gasped as Gaius dabbed gingerly at the wound, the pain making spots appear before his eyes.

“What were you doing, walking to Camelot, anyways?” Gaius questioned. He grimaced at the sight of the injury, and Merlin looked pointedly away.

“I couldn’t drive,” he stated. “They have those magic scanners now. And I don’t have a car. I hitchhiked to the border and ran across.”

“And happened to run into Uther,” Gaius added quietly.

Merlin blinked. “So that was Uther,” he realized. “He _shot_ me.” He sighed. “I must have the worst luck.”

“You’re a sorcerer in Camelot,” stated the doctor. “Not only that, you’re the _prince_ of sorcerers. Did you expect _good_ luck?” He set down his cleansing sponge and went to the cabinet. “Speaking of being a prince, where’s your staff?”

Merlin bit his lip shamefully. “Yeah… that.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well, I was carrying the staff in my… left hand,” Merlin began. “And they shot my left shoulder.”

“And you dropped it!?” Gaius shouted.

Merlin looked away, his ears growing hot. “Well… maybe.”

Gaius’s entire form sagged. “ _Merlin!_ ” he cried in agony.

“Sorry!” Merlin tried.

“Do you even know what that staff _is?_ ”

Merlin rolled his eyes. He had heard this spiel a thousand times from his father back home. “Hand-carved by the angels, each heir has one, unique to himself, blah blah blah.”

“And you _lost yours!_ ”

“I get it!” Merlin shouted. “I told you I had bad luck.”

Gaius snorted. “At your rate I expect you’ll be at Uther’s feet by the end of the week.”

“Your confidence is overwhelming,” Merlin said sarcastically.

Gaius returned to his nephew, holding a roll of medical gauze. He unfurled it and began wrapping it around Merlin’s shoulder. “Hold still!” he ordered as Merlin squirmed.

“It hurts!” the boy complained.

“It’s your own fault!” Gaius retorted.

Merlin scowled, not in the mood to argue with his uncle. “So,” he said when the bandage had been fully wrapped, “what’s this school I’m going to?”

Gaius shrugged as he cleaned up. “Where did Hunith say you were going?”

“The Pendragon Institute.”

The old man dropped the roll of gauze. It bounced on the counter and rolled onto the floor, some of it coming undone. “You really do have bad luck,” Gaius stated. He knelt down and picked up the bandaging with a grunt. “Or your mother wants you dead.”

“Is that the school Uther owns?” Merlin asked. When Gaius nodded, he sighed, “I knew it. I told her the name was familiar, but no, all she cared about was how prestigious it was.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Nothing you can do now,” Gaius stated. “Maybe this is where your destiny meant for you to go.”

Merlin scowled. “My destiny wants me dead.” A laugh escaped him, remembering his encounter with the dragon. “Yeah, that dragon wasn’t too fond of me. He didn’t even give me the whole story. He just said, ‘Your destiny lies in Camelot.’ Oooooh,” Merlin said creepily. “So mysterious and vague.”

“All of them are like that,” Gaius replied. He sat down next to his nephew on the patient bed. “My dragon told me that if I walked in circles enough, I would find my destiny.”

The two of them laughed. When it died down, Gaius turned to Merlin. “Can you cook?” he queried.

Merlin shrugged. “I suppose.”

Gaius clapped him on the shoulder, making Merlin wince painfully. “Then you’re making breakfast tomorrow. Good night.” He used Merlin’s arm to help himself stand, making the young warlock gasp with agony.

“Good night,” he managed in response, eyes watering.

***

Merlin’s room was nothing special. A long time ago, he and his mother Hunith had stayed in the same room, before the Second Great Purge had struck full force and before his mother had been exiled completely to the Druid lands. It was a vague memory, mostly one of the ceiling. The bed looked as if it had been there twenty years or longer, though the sheets were fresh. If anything, Gaius was clean.

Boxes, however, littered the floor. Hunith had been slowly sending Merlin’s things to her brother, mostly clothes and a few sentimental belongings. Gaius had left them packed, probably to let Merlin do it.

He looked around, hoping to see that familiar curved case, but it was not there. He sighed in disappointment. His mother had sent his guitar ahead of him, but he had apparently beaten it.

Merlin sat down on the bed, intending to think about his new life and what it would hold, but suddenly he realized just how tired he was. Head drooping, he threw off his shoes and removed his jeans without standing up.

It felt so good to lie down after the horrifying run from the witch hunters. Sleep came quickly, and mercifully, he did not dream.

***

“Merlin!”

Merlin jumped awake. Gaius was standing over him, a sight Merlin was not used to. Startled, he scrambled amongst his sheets. “What the hell!” he cried, panicking.

“Get up!” Gaius yelled. “I need someone to watch the clinic!”

“What clinic?”

Gaius sighed. “I have to meet with my medical supplier. Get yourself to the front desk in five minutes. Go!” Huffing at the ignorance of boys, Gaius stormed out of the room.

Merlin yawned widely and looked around for a clock. He found one behind his bed, on the little stand that had not been there in his memories. Nine-thirty. Exhausted, he sat up and found his pants.

A few minutes later, still flattening his hair, Merlin emerged from his room and sat down heavily in the spinning chair behind the desk. His eyes immediately shut, hoping to sleep again.

“I’m going!” Gaius announced, causing Merlin to snap awake again.

“Mm,” Merlin replied with a wave.

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, before finally departing through the clinic door.

Hours passed. Merlin was utterly bored. At first, he did what he usually did when bored—magic. But then that became a very bad idea when a client walked in asking to make an appointment. So Merlin sought something else to do.

His fingers itched for his guitar, somewhere en route to the clinic. Instead, Merlin constructed men out of paperclips and arranged them in battle formation. He thumbed through Gaius’s collection of herbal remedies books. When he finally realized he was hungry, he went to the kitchen and found a bag of walnuts, which he poured into a bowl along with a pack of M&M’s and took back with him to the desk.

Merlin was just starting to give his paperclip army M&M ammo when the bell dinged on the front door, and in strolled one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen.

She was perfect. Her eyes were like chocolate, her skin was dark and warm, and her curly black hair fell about her angelic face. But what made her truly beautiful was her smile. It was nothing short of gorgeous, friendly and bright. She stopped short when she saw Merlin.

“Oh,” she said. She giggled uncertainly. “Where’s Gaius?”

Merlin cracked a smile. “He had a meeting with a supplier.”

“Oh,” the girl said again. “And who are you?” she wondered.

“I’m Merlin,” he laughed. “I’m, uh, Gaius’s nephew. I’ll be helping out here for awhile.”

The girl nodded agreeably. “Well, um, I’m Gwen,” she introduced, with a silly little curtsy to match her purple dress. She giggled again. Merlin had to smile. She was adorably awkward. “I’ve come to fill, um, the Lady Morgana’s prescription.”

Merlin hesitated. “Well, I really have no idea what to do about that,” he admitted sheepishly. “But, er, you can leave it here, and when Gaius comes back, he can fill it, and then I’ll bring it to you later.”

Gwen blinked. “You’ll bring it?” she said, her voice wrought with disbelief.

“Just because I’m bored doesn’t mean I’m lazy,” Merlin pointed out teasingly.

Pursing her lips, Gwen laughed. “All right,” she agreed. “Gaius will tell you where to bring it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out three empty pill bottles, one by one, and set them on the counter. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Merlin nodded, definitely hoping so, and watched her leave. She cast him an embarrassed glance back and seemed to blush as she walked out the door.

When Gaius finally returned, Merlin was doodling very poor cartoons on the margins of patient questionnaires.

“Stop that!” Gaius ordered, snatching the papers from him.

“Well I’m bored!” Merlin exclaimed. “I can’t use magic, all your books are boring, and you don’t even have a computer back here! You know how long I’ve wanted to play with a computer? It’s half the reason I’m here!”

“And the other half?” Gaius demanded. “Your mother’s letter was very vague.”

“I told you.” He grinned. “Dragon call.”

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Yes, but what exactly did it _say?_ ”

Merlin scrunched up his face, thinking hard. Gaius threw up his hands in exasperation. “Hey, I was half asleep!” Merlin protested. “Um… ‘your destiny lies in Camelot, beware the witch Fey,’ whatever. Normal stuff.”

Gaius squinted. “Fey?” he repeated. “Who is Fey?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said with a shrug.

“Don’t treat this so lightly, Merlin, your dragon call is very serious business!”

“Oh come on, Gaius!” exclaimed Merlin. “It was run of the mill ‘don’t eat yellow snow’ stuff! Fey is no one, and even if she _is_ someone, I’m Emrys! I moved a mountain!”

“It is exactly that sort of cockiness that will be your downfall, Merlin,” Gaius warned.

Merlin made a face. It was time to change the subject. “Oh, a girl named Gwen stopped by to refill a prescription. I told her I’d drop it off for her later.”

Gaius froze. “You did?” he repeated.

Merlin did not like the change in Gaius’s tone. “Yeah, why?”

Gaius pursed his lips. “Oh. Nothing. Here, we’ll bring Gwen the medicine now.” He grabbed the empty pill bottles and waddled to the storeroom.

Frowning, Merlin watched him go. “All right,” he said uncertainly. He thought Gaius had wanted him here to do the walking around part, but whatever made the old man happy.

After a few minutes, Gaius returned with the pill bottles in a white paper bag. “All right, Merlin, let’s go. Come now, hurry up.”

Merlin followed the old man out of the clinic, taking a moment to enjoy his denim jeans that weren’t in style in the DruidKingdom. He liked how they felt when he walked. “So Gaius,” he asked as they strolled along the sidewalk, “how long have you been in Camelot?”

“Long enough,” Gaius replied. He adjusted his blazer and tie as they walked.

“But their technology!” Merlin exclaimed, watching cars go by. “It’s really incredible! Why don’t _we_ have stuff like this?”

“Because it wouldn’t work.” Gaius smiled and nodded to a woman they passed on the sidewalk. Merlin kept quiet, even though he desperately wanted to ask why.

Instead, Merlin looked around. “Is that the citadel?” he wondered, pointing.

“Indeed.” Gaius then turned up a bit of sidewalk that very obviously led to the castle.

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Where are you going?”

“Bringing Gwen the medicine,” Gaius called. “Do keep up.”

Panicking, Merlin rushed to catch up with Gaius. “What, she’s _royalty?_ ” he hissed. He paused. “ _She_ is the Lady Morgana?” he cried.

Gaius halted in his steps and placed a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Don’t be stupid,” he said with a smile. “Guinevere is the Lady’s handmaiden.”

“Oh.” Merlin sighed in relief. “Okay. That makes me feel a lot better.” He swung his head around as a moped growled by. “Wow, Gaius, did you see that one?”

“This is my nephew,” Gaius introduced to the guard, a traditionally armored man with a spear. “He’s from the country, bless him.”

The guard rolled his eyes and allowed them to pass.

Everything was much more familiar inside the citadel, as stone castles were something Merlin was used to. But he could not get over the strange feel the world had to it. In the Druid kingdom, the air was alive with magic. Everything was crisp and cool and clear as a winter’s day. But here, the air had something else in it. It still pulsed, still lived, but it was a little foggy, as if Merlin were slightly near-sighted.

“Gaius, what’s wrong with the air?” he murmured, focusing hard on a sharply-dressed man with a small black device in his hand.

“It’s called wifi,” Gaius stated. “Now come on.” He trotted up the steps with Merlin close behind.

Gaius pushed through the grand door like it was a regular thing. A guard, this one in a sharp black suit (like the man from earlier) with a device in his ear (Merlin had heard of these substitutes for thought communication). He looked at Gaius and smiled. “Evening, Gaius,” he greeted.

“Good evening, Leon,” Gaius replied, nodding. “This is my nephew, Merlin.” He touched Merlin on the shoulder. “He’s just moved in with me, so I thought I’d give him the tour.”

Leon grimaced. “You know how Uther doesn’t like strangers,” he warned.

“Oh come now, he’s just a boy,” Gaius retorted.

Still, Leon was hesitant. “Let me at least give him a once over, all right? Just to be safe.”

Gaius agreed, and before Merlin knew what was happening he was being handled. He yelped as Leon patted him down, all over. It was very uncomfortable. Merlin had _never_ been touched by _anyone,_ really. And when he had imagined being touched like this, he had always pictured a woman.

Abruptly Leon stood up and produced a large metal stick from his inner jacket. He clicked a button, and the edges of it glowed blue. “Magic detector,” Leon informed him. He winked. “Just to be safe.”

Merlin swallowed. Now he was screwed.

The wand scanned him without the slightest abnormality. Leon smiled. “Right, you’re clean.”

Merlin blinked in disbelief. “All right,” he replied shakily.

Gaius touched his nose. “Left pocket,” he murmured, and then set off after Leon.

Wary, Merlin slid his hand into his pocket, and his fingers touched what he recognized as a charm. A smile relaxed his features. Good old Gaius. He rushed to catch up.

“Oh, Gaius,” called a deep voice. Merlin recognized it, and his blood went cold.

King Uther Pendragon strode up behind them, dressed in an immaculate suit with the Pendragon dragon branded on his hand. “Gaius,” the mortal king stated, “I’m glad you are here. I need your assistance.”

Gaius blinked. “All right, sire,” he conceded. “Allow me to bring the lady her medicine first.”

Uther suddenly saw Merlin, and he stopped dead in his tracks. “Who is this?” he inquired, remotely interested.

“My nephew, Merlin,” Gaius answered.

“He can bring Morgana her prescription.” Uther decided. “Gaius, with me. Leon, show Marvin to Morgana.” He spun on his heel and marched off, with Gaius toddling behind.

Merlin pursed his lips. “It’s Merlin,” he mumbled.

Leon nodded to his king, and Merlin trailed after him. “So, where are you from?” Leon inquired. He was very friendly, for a bloke dressed up in Camelot uniform.

“Um… Ealdor,” Merlin said, remembering where his mother was from.

“Ealdor?” Leon repeated. He frowned. “That’s in… Lot, right?”

“Yeah,” Merlin confirmed. He hoped it was, anyway.

Leon smiled. “Never been. What made you move to Camelot?”

“Oh, school,” Merlin replied.

“Yeah, you would be a scholar,” said Leon with a grin. He took Merlin up a flight of stairs to a second landing, where he then showed the Druid prince to an authentically carved wooden door. He rapped three times. “My lady, you have a visitor.”

“Tell my brother I have no interest in seeing him,” snapped the voice inside.

Leon bit his lip. “Oh, they’re fighting again,” he mumbled. “No, my lady, it’s not your brother,” he said louder.

The door swung open. “Gwen?” she questioned.

Merlin’s heart stopped.

It was like that pathetic television show Merlin had watched the day before, something Gaius sneeringly called “daytime television.” The man had been completely enamored with the woman from just the sight of her. That was Merlin.

She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair consisted of dark, ebony curls, and her large eyes were piercing and green. She appeared graceful, like a ballerina.

“I’ve brought you your medicine,” Merlin stated easily. He was proud to realize he had no problem talking to girls. He hadn’t really talked to anyone before this little trip of his. “Your maiden came by earlier, and I told her I would take care of it.” He held up the bag.

The Lady Morgana blinked a few times, taking in his unfamiliarity. Then her rouge lips formed a perfect smile. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes, Gwen told me about you. You’re working for Gaius?”

“Yes, my lady, he is my uncle,” Merlin informed her with a nod. He stood up straighter, noticing he was slouching in a very unconventional way. “I’m Merlin, by the way.” He extended his hand.

Beside him, Leon tensed. Merlin flinched. Was he not supposed to do that?

Morgana laughed and shook his hand. “Well, very nice to meet you Merlin.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe I’ll come myself next time.”

Merlin beamed. “I’ll be there,” he answered. Inwardly, he was applauding himself. He was one cool cat, it seemed.

Abruptly, there was the sound of footsteps. Morgana poked her head out and gasped. “Uh oh.” She grimaced and closed the door.

“Morgana!” A man about Merlin’s age came rushing up, arm outstretched. He was dressed in athletic shorts and a white long sleeve shirt, holding in his hand a black and white ball. He barely missed Morgana’s door closing. “Ah, bollocks,” he swore quietly. He noticed Merlin staring and glared. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Leon looked like he wanted to answer, but Merlin beat him to it. “I’m Merlin,” he declared. Merlin was feeling immensely confident at the moment. “Who are you?” he asked evenly.

The man stared at him, grinning with disbelief. “Oh,” he said, “you’re funny.” He turned around and dropped the ball. As he exited, he proceeded to kick the ball down the corridor, as if he owned the place.

Merlin snickered. What a cocky little prick.

Leon gaped at him. “Right,” he managed, his tone disbelieving. “We’ll get you back to Gaius now.”

***

They found Uther and Gaius in a study, huddled beside a large mahogany desk. Merlin’s shoulder gave a twinge of pain at the sight of the mortal king. They were speaking in hushed voices, heads bent together.

Leon cleared his throat.

The two of them looked up. “Ah, Merlin,” Gaius greeted, and his smile was strained.

“Are we interrupting?” Leon inquired with a slight bow.

“No, no,” Uther assured him, waving him off. He leaned down and moved something on the other side of the desk. “We were just finishing.” He nodded at Gaius. “Tomorrow, then,” he said.

“Just give us a ring when you’re ready,” Gaius replied. He looked to Merlin. “Ready, boy?”

Merlin pursed his lips. “Yes,” he said. He was not sure he approved of the term “boy.”

Gaius nodded. “Right. Sire,” he bowed, “if you will excuse us.”

Merlin imitated him, figuring it was best to play it safe.

King Uther nodded. “Leon, escort them out, please.”

Leon nodded once and began to lead them out.

“Oh, and bring me my son, afterwards, would you?”

“Of course, sire,” Leon responded. He touched the small device in his ear and continued walking down the corridor. Merlin and Gaius followed briskly. “Valiant, do you have eyes on Arthur, over.” There was a pause. “Bring him to the king. Study four. First floor.” Then the knight glanced back at his charges. “Thank you for bringing the lady’s prescription,” he said, opening a much smaller door than the one they had entered.

Gaius smiled. “Our pleasure, Sir Leon.”

The walk out of the palace grounds was disturbingly silent. Merlin kept wanting to break it, but the words continued to die in his throat.

The moment they were safely inside the clinic, Gaius locked the door and turned the sign to closed. Then he smacked Merlin about the head.

Merlin flinched impressively. He had never been hit before. “Ow!” he shouted.

“You stupid boy!” Gaius scolded. “Do you have any idea what Uther is planning? He thinks Balinor sent you to spy! He’s going to declare war, you fool!”

Merlin blinked. “What?”

Gaius shook his head. “You know, I questioned the notion when Balinor decided to send you here alone, but now I _know_ we’re in a mess. Go pack, Merlin, you’re leaving as—.”

“Wait!” Merlin cried. Gaius broke off and looked at him. The boy was afraid, his face a picture of raw emotion. “You… you can’t tell Father. He doesn’t—I mean, he’s with the Anglicans, right now.”

Gaius leered at him. “Doesn’t what?” he demanded.

Merlin bit at his lip and shamefully averted his eyes.

Understanding flashed across Gaius like lightning. “He doesn’t _know?_ ” he gasped.

“Please, Gaius, I just got here!” pleaded Merlin. “I didn’t even get to go to school yet! Can’t I… can’t I just have a week—no, a month! One month. That’s all I want.”

Gaius scrutinized his charge, and finally he sighed. “Merlin, they know you’re here,” he murmured. “Uther is itching for war. Do you realize what a perfect mistake you’ve made?”

“I swear I’ll fix it,” Merlin promised.

Slowly, Gaius shook his head. His resolve was crumbling, however. He had never been good at being strict. “How do you expect me to stall Uther?” he said eventually.

Merlin nearly squealed. “So I can stay!?”

“Not if we can’t stall Uther,” Gaius snapped.

Merlin licked his lips, jumping as an idea came to him. “Ooh! Uther trusts you, yeah? You can convince him that the staff isn’t mine, maybe! Or, or maybe, I can steal my staff back. He can’t claim it was me without proof!”

Gaius looked at him. “Uther is not an idiot, Merlin. Though I’m starting to fear for the Druid nation.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but not even Gaius’s sharp insult could bring him down. “Well, whatever, I’m trying, aren’t I?” He clapped his hands. “Maybe you can distract him with other things! Like, y’know, Prince Arthur’s schooling or something.”

The old physician took a moment to scowl before shooing his ward away. “Go to bed,” he ordered with a sigh. “I’ll come up with something.” 


	2. Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin meets Arthur, for real this time.

  
_From the_ Encyclopedia of Druid _, fourth ed._  


_Druids have fought the modernization of the world. Their magic is incompatible with most electronic devices, causing them to resent the advancements._

* * *

 

Merlin woke up so brimming with excitement that magic was leaking out of his fingers. He overenthusiastically reached for the milk and the lid sprang off the carton. The salt shaker danced across the table with the drumming of his fingers. A slight wind kicked up in the kitchen while he hummed.

“Merlin, if you can’t get this under control, you’re not leaving this house,” Gaius complained, throwing his hair out of his face for the third time.

“Gaius,” Merlin trilled, having not heard him, “I’m going to college!”

Gaius shook his head and speared another pear slice on his fork.

“I mean, real school!” he went on. “With people! That I can talk to!” Merlin blinked with excitement. “Wow. I can’t believe it!”

“Yes, well if you don’t reign in your magic, you’ll have a good deal of trouble on your hands,” stated Gaius.

Merlin nodded. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said uncaringly.

Gaius stared. “They’ll kill you Merlin,” he told him flatly.

“Yes, I know that, but—.” Merlin broke off abruptly. A low voice he barely recognized had floated in on the wind. “Did you hear that?”

The old man gazed at him absently. “Hear what?”

_Merlin…_

“That,” Merlin stated. He stood up. “Someone is calling me.”

Gaius blinked. “You’re really not convincing me to let you outside,” he reminded him.

“Right! No, I’m fine, it was nothing.” Merlin picked up his schoolbag (a real schoolbag! With books! And pencils, not quills or charcoal!) and raced to the door. “Bye see you later!” he called. And then he was gone.

Gaius looked as if he wanted to say something as the young warlock whisked out the door, but then changed his mind. “He’ll figure it out,” he decided, and he went back to his pear.

* * *

 

Merlin was thrilled to his very bones. He had memorized his class schedule the moment he had received one, from before he even left the Druids. His first class was at 9:30, Chemistry 101. He had heard chemistry was basically mortal magic, and he wanted to know exactly how they achieved it without being Earthborn.

He arrived early at the campus, which was good, since he got lost on his way to find his class and had to backtrack several times. When he found it, he was very nearly late, and earned a reproaching look from the professor.

Merlin slid into the first available seat he found and happily produced a notebook from his bag. He had practiced writing with pencil was ready to put his skills to the test.

The professor looked at his watch, scratched his nose, strolled over to the door, and closed it. Apparently this meant class was starting. Everyone became immediately attentive. “Good morning,” the professor stated. He toddled back over to his desk and picked up a stack of papers. “William, pass these out.” A boy at the front of the room took the stack and began handing them out. The professor turned to the white board and uncapped a marker. “For today’s lab, we will be determining molecular weight by freezing point depression.”

Merlin’s hand froze over the paper. His mind went completely blank. What did he just say? He looked around at the other students: they all seemed to know exactly what was going on. As the professor continued explaining the procedure, Merlin began to feel uneasy. He was going to _fail._

He was so wrapped up in his own panic that he did not notice the person next to him vying for his attention. It wasn’t until he was poked in the arm with the eraser end of a pencil that he realized them.

“Hey,” she said. Merlin blinked. She smiled at him warmly. “You look lost.”

Merlin stared. “Gwen?” he queried. He continued to gape. “What are you doing here?”

Gwen rolled her eyes playfully. “Chemistry,” she replied. She chewed her lip nervously. “Do you want to be my partner?”

At Merlin’s confused expression, she immediately sought to explain herself. “I mean, lab partner. For today. I mean, we could be partners longer than that, but, um, usually I work alone, and you seem like you need help. Not that you’re helpless! I just, er, well…” She stopped when she realized Merlin was laughing.

“You’re right,” he told her. “I do need help. And I would be honored to be your partner.”

* * *

 

Gwen did all the work. Merlin wished he could have helped more, but he really had no clue what he was doing. He asked Gwen to explain everything aloud as she went, which she did patiently. He sat at the lab table and took studious notes, and the two made plans to write the report together when Gwen got off work.

“So you work for the Lady Morgana?” Merlin inquired.

The maiden nodded, her hands carefully adjusting the beakers as was necessary. “My father was a poor man,” she began. “He had a small shop, and he mostly did repairs on antique weapons, guns and swords and the like. And Morgana is a very compassionate being. She saw our struggle one day, when she happened to wander in, and pleaded with Uther to let my father work in the palace.” Gwen smiled. “My father is now in charge of all the antique weaponry, and the lady took me on as a handmaiden. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“She’s allowed outside the palace?” exclaimed Merlin. “Alone?”

Gwen shrugged walked around to other side of the table and continued working. “Well, the people love her. And Prince Arthur. Usually only a knight or two will escort her. But,” her voice dropped a few notes, “I suspect that after what’s happened, their protection will be stricter.”

Merlin leaned in closer. “What’s happened?”

The girl bit her lip uncertainly. “I’m not supposed to say. I’m not even supposed to know!”

“Oh go on,” Merlin encouraged. “Who am I going to tell?”

Gwen seemed to consider this, then leaned down to his level. “Um, well, you see, we’re not entirely sure yet, but, er, His Majesty was out hunting a week ago, and they found a,” her murmur became a whisper, “wizard staff.”

Merlin’s stomach turned to ice. The wound on his shoulder panged angrily. “They did?” he questioned hesitantly.

She nodded urgently. “And they think it belongs to the Druid prince.”

For a moment, Merlin’s panic prevented him from replying. But then he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “How’d they figure that?”

Gwen simply shrugged. “I don’t know. I took a class on Druids last semester, and I know that staffs are gifts from nature. Not many warlocks have them. So, I mean, they can’t be sure, but I guess there aren’t many warlocks to choose from.”

Merlin nodded. It was true. Only a few warlocks—natural born wizards—had a hope of receiving a staff. Sorcerers—those who learned the trade—never had staffs. Staffs were presented by the priestesses, after apparently being specially made by faeries and angels (both of which have never been proven to exist) (also do not confuse angels with Anglicans) (or faeries with pixies. Pixies exist and no one likes them). Every wizard presented with a staff had been recorded in the citadel and was public for all to see. Including the mortals.

“Class dismissed,” the professor called.

Students instantly began packing up their things. A few had not yet finished with the experiment and made no move to leave. Gwen quietly put things away, and Merlin folded his notebook back in his bag. “So, when is your last class?” she inquired.

Merlin blinked. The change in conversation surprised him. “Um, at one,” he remembered.

“Then I’ll come to the clinic at two,” Gwen replied. “We’ll write our report then. Where are you off to now?”

“French.”

“Do you know where it is?” At his silence, she giggled. “I’ll walk you there, hm? I have a break now anyways.”

Merlin smiled and realized how much he liked Gwen. She was very pretty. Not completely out of his league like the Lady Morgana. And she was the fist girl ever to speak to him as a friend. Maybe something could come of this. Merlin looked her up and down and judged she would make a fine queen.

He shook his head. _Don’t think about that,_ he snapped inwardly. _That’s creepy._

“Right,” Gwen declared, stopping. Merlin had hardly realized they’d moved. “Here you are. See you at two!” she said, and she strolled away.

Merlin wandered into the classroom to find most of the seats already occupied. He nabbed the nearest one and immediately missed Gwen.

“Hey.”

Merlin looked around. The man next to him grinned. “You new?”

“Yeah,” Merlin responded. He smiled a little. The people here were very friendly. “I’m Merlin.”

“Gwaine,” the man introduced. He jerked a thumb to the man on his left. “That’s Percival.”

Merlin nodded. “Nice to meet you.” He glanced at Gwaine. “Nice hair,” he noted.

“Shove off, mate, the ladies love it,” Gwaine retorted.

“I believe it,” Merlin said. He had just watched four different girls smile at Gwaine, though he did not see them.

“Do you play football?” asked Gwaine.

“Football?” Merlin had never heard of it.

Gwaine and Percival chortled. “Never mind then.”

At that moment, the professor came rushing in. He looked flustered, dragging a coat and a messenger bag. “Sorry I’m late, class,” he said. “I was called in on short notice.” He dropped his things on the desk and grinned. “Good morning. I’m Lancelot du Lac. Mr. du Lac. Professor Waters had a family emergency, so I’ll be your substitute.” He smiled.

Merlin smiled back, but no one else did.

Lancelot’s smile became a grimace. “Right then.”

The class passed quickly. Lancelot fell into the routine easily, and soon won over the students. But Merlin was already fluent in French. The Druid prince had to be very cultured. Merlin currently spoke English, French, and Russian, and he was in the process of learning Chinese. Just like mortals, Druids came from all over. The nation did not have one official language, and seemed to divide into provinces based on country of origin. So Merlin had to learn all the languages. And he rather enjoyed it.

The hour was up before he knew it. Suddenly chairs were scraping on the hard floor and people were flooding out. Gwaine knocked on Merlin’s desk. “See you later, mate,” he said, and he strolled out with Percival.

“How was my first day?” Lancelot asked. Merlin jumped and realized he was the only person in the room besides the professor. “Did I do all right?”

Merlin shrugged. “It’s my first day too,” he confessed. He strolled over to the desk.

Lancelot smiled. “Must be very nerve-racking,” he mentioned.

“A little, yeah.” Merlin pursed his lips. “I’ve actually been, er, home-schooled my whole life. So it’s nice to meet people.” He glanced at Lancelot’s many papers and frowned. “How long have you been a teacher?” he wondered, dragging a paper over to him.

Lancelot snatched it back. “Not long,” he answered shortly.

But Merlin had seen it. It was a rejection letter, stating he did not meet the proper requirements for a teaching position. “I see,” Merlin stated. He was hit with a wave of compassion for this man. “So I hear that to teach here, you need to be a noble,” he said.

It was true. PendragonUniversity was extremely selective. Uther only let those he deemed of worthy blood teach within its walls.

Lancelot chewed on his bottom lip. “Yes, that’s what I’ve heard,” he said with a forced laugh.

Merlin smirked. He drummed his fingers on the table as made his exit. “I won’t say anything,” he called over his shoulder.

* * *

 

Merlin was walking home around one, after his third and final class of the day (a western history class that focused on the mortal side of things), when he strolled by a field. He had passed the same field on his way to the campus, except that now, in the warm afternoon air, a group of men were running around.

“Hey, Merlin!” someone called.

Merlin jumped at being recognized. Oh god. How did they know?

But the face that came panting up to him was one he knew and he smiled. “Hi Gwaine,” he greeted.

Gwaine grinned like an idiot. “What are you up to?”

“Going home,” Merlin stated.

“Gwaine, who’s that?”

Merlin looked up, and who should be jogging over besides pretty boy from yesterday at the citadel? Merlin rolled his eyes.

“This is Merlin,” Gwaine introduced.

The man looked at him. “Oh, I know you,” he remarked, grinning cockily. “You’re that servant boy from yesterday.”

Merlin gaped. What the hell was this tone? Who did pretty boy think he was? “I’m not a servant,” he snapped.

“You look like someone I’d kick around for fun,” the man commented.

Stupidly, Merlin stuck out his chin. “I’d like to see you try,” he challenged. _I’ll turn your insides out without lifting a finger you cocky little prat._

The man stepped back, arms wide. “Go ahead,” he coaxed. “Go for it.”

Merlin had never hit anyone before. He was eager to try it out. Before Gwaine could warn him, Merlin had swung, and suddenly his arm was being twisted painfully behind his back and he could feel the man’s hot breath in his ear. “That’s treason, you know, raising your hand against me.”

Despite all his pain, Merlin spat out, “And who do you think you are? The king?”

“Close,” the man murmured. “I’m his son.” He let Merlin go.

Realization came crashing down on Merlin. It all made sense now. This was Prince Arthur. And Merlin had just made him his mortal enemy.

“Be nice, princess,” Gwaine scolded. “Merlin’s harmless.”

“He doesn’t seem to think so,” Arthur remarked.

Merlin cocked his head. “You know, being prince doesn’t mean you can be a prat.”

Gwaine whistled at the insult. Arthur glared. “I  think,” he began carefully, “that—.”

“You do?” Merlin interrupted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The mortal prince bristled. Merlin smirked. He was enjoying this too much.

“Merlin!”

All three of them turned to see Gwen walking up the sidewalk. She gave a friendly wave. “Guinevere!” Arthur exclaimed. Merlin glanced over to see the prince straightening up and smoothing down his hair.

“Hello,” she greeted happily, coming to stand beside Merlin. Then she looked over. “Oh, sire.” She bowed.

Arthur nodded. “Good afternoon, Guinevere,” he said.

Gwen turned back to Merlin, not quite ignoring Arthur but certainly not giving him her full attention. “Shall we go write our report now?” she queried.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Merlin said.

The girl gave him the prettiest smile that Merlin _knew_ made Arthur rife with jealousy. She reached in her bag and turned to Gwaine. “Gwaine, would you give this to Elyan?” She held out a key. “He forgot his again.”

“Sure thing,” Gwaine agreed.

Gwen smiled her thanks. “Bye now!” She waved, then remembered Arthur. She curtsied a little. “Sire.”

“Guinevere,” Arthur said, for the sake of saying _something_ to her.

Merlin and Gwen strolled away, Merlin grinning like an idiot. Gwen looked up at him. “What are you so happy about?” she wondered.

“Oh, you know,” Merlin replied airily. “Life.” And it was true. His life was pretty fantastic right now.

* * *

 

“So how is working for the Lady Morgana?” Merlin inquired.

“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Gwen informed him as she scribbled in her notebook. She picked up a paper and handed it to him. “These are our recordings for the second test. Put the two in a table and compare them, okay?”

Merlin did as she instructed. He was using a ruler to make his lines extra straight because he thought they needed to be. “But you hardly have any time off,” he pointed out.

Gwen shrugged. “Well, I live at the palace now because it’s just easier. My father and Elyan still live off the grounds, and I can visit them whenever I like. I’ve just been working more lately because my lady has been ill.”

“Ill?” Merlin repeated. He frowned at his crooked line and erased it. He was quickly falling in love with the eraser, something that did not exist back home. “Ill how?”

“…I shouldn’t say.”

Merlin just gave her a _look_ that he had perfected over the past few hours, and now it was sure to get Gwen to spill her guts.

Gwen bit her lip. “Well, Morgana has terrible, terrible nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” he repeated. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“Yes,” Gwen confirmed. “They wake her often, and she gets dreadful headaches. And I’m afraid sometimes, they frighten her a little too much.”

“Mm, how’s that?” Merlin asked. He scowled at the numbers.

Gwen grimaced. “Well, I’m not sure why, but, um, sometimes she gets so scared that she won’t leave her room.”

Suddenly the door to Merlin’s tiny bedroom burst open, making Merlin and Gwen jump, and in stormed Gaius. “Merlin!” he cried, and there was some relief on his face.

“What?” Merlin asked. Was he not supposed to have girls over? Was that a rule?

Gaius straightened up and looked less angry. “I just thought I’d let you know that there is a rogue sorceress on the loose.” He peered at Merlin. “Here. In Camelot.”

Merlin blinked owlishly. “Okay…” he said uncertainly.

Gwen reacted better. She gasped and covered her mouth fearfully. “A sorceress? Here? In Camelot?”

Gaius nodded. “She wants revenge on Uther for taking her son in one of his hunts.”

The maiden was on her feet, gathering her things. “I need to get to the palace. My lady’s life could be in danger!”

“Merlin, escort her,” Gaius ordered.

Merlin nodded and jumped up, understanding the situation now. He took Gwen’s hand and they hurried out of the clinic. He was on high alert. If anyone jumped out to attack Gwen, he would take them down with just a look.

To Merlin’s surprise, the streets were empty. It was the middle of the afternoon. Where was everyone…?

“Oi, you there!” someone shouted. Gwen jumped and froze. Merlin prepared to attack.

A man with a bright red cape came up to them, the red material flapping out behind him. At first Merlin thought the outfit was silly, but then he felt the dark waves of energy from it and cringed. The fabric was anti-magic. Of course.

“Sir Valiant, it’s me!” Gwen exclaimed, looking relieved.

The knight scowled, but took his hand off his gun. Merlin eyed the weapon nervously. “The king has ordered a lockdown. You two need to get indoors immediately.”

“Merlin is escorting me to the palace,” Gwen told him. “My lady needs me.”

Valiant’s face went from one of duty to a look of empathy. “Then let me take you myself,” he offered.

Merlin wanted to refuse. The cape made him feel nauseas and his shoulder throbbed with the memory of it. But Gwen nodded and he had no choice but to follow along.

It felt like it took an eternity to reach the palace. The only other souls in the streets were other caped man, and Merlin could feel the anti-magic from all of them. It gave him the worst of headaches.

“Sire!” Valiant called.

King Uther himself was standing on the stairs of his castle. He had a sword at his waist and a gun in his hand. “Who is with you?” he called, lifting the gun.

“Maid Guinevere and Gaius’s ward,” the knight replied.

Uther nodded. “Go in,” he ordered.

Merlin and Gwen trotted up the stairs past him.

“Wait.”

Merlin’s heart stopped. He heard the mortal king ascend a few steps and come to a stop at his side. “What happened to your arm, boy?” he asked in a low voice.

The injury screamed in response to Uther, sensing his gun and his sword. Merlin tried to hide his wince and grabbed at the wound. It felt hot beneath the bandages.

“Swimming,” Merlin gasped out. “I was, uh, swimming and I tore a ligament.”

In his mind, he was praying, _Please let there be ligaments in my shoulder please let that be a real thing._

For a tense moment, Uther scrutinized him. Then he nodded. “On your way. Do not leave this palace until I declare it clear, understand?”

Merlin and Gwen nodded insistently. Merlin just wanted to get away.

“Father,” Arthur called, appearing at the top of the stairs, “The north and east entrances are covered.”

“Good, thank you, Arthur,” Uther said. He pointed at Gwen. “Now take the maiden to Morgana and stay inside.”

Arthur blinked. “Father, I—,” he protested, but was cut off.

“Now, Arthur!”

The prince bowed rigidly and waited for Merlin and Gwen to catch up. He noted their hands with pursed lips and said nothing.

Gwen dropped Merlin’s hand instantly.

“Follow me,” he stated.

 Arthur led them to Morgana’s chamber. Gwen knocked politely but urgently, adding, “Morgana?” to hasten a reply.

“Come in, Gwen,” was the weak reply.

Gwen pushed inside and disappeared. The door closed, and Merlin was left standing there awkwardly with Arthur. The prince looked at him coldly. “We will stand guard here,” he snapped.

Merlin did not argue.

The castle was unbearably quiet. If there was anything exciting going on, it was elsewhere.

“So.” Arthur’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. “You’re a friend of Guinevere’s?”

Merlin pursed his lips. “Yep,” he replied.

“…Just a friend?”

 _Is he… jealous?_ Merlin wondered. “Yes, just a friend,” he assured him. He looked at Arthur, almost missing the prince’s relieved expression, and realized he did not feel woozy. “Do you… not have anything anti-magic on?” he questioned. The prince was in street clothes, save for the sword at his waist.

Arthur glanced at him. “If the sorceress finds me, I want it to be a fair fight,” he proclaimed grandly.

Merlin frowned. “Don’t be so arrogant,” he cautioned.

“Please,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “The Witch Collins is not someone I am afraid of.”

“What?” Merlin exclaimed. “The Witch Collins? _Here?_ ”

“You’ve heard of her, then?”

“Heard of her!” Merlin was astounded. The Witch Collins was an average magician at best, but she was a scoundrel amongst Druids and certainly one mortals should fear. Her son, he had heard, had been on his way to becoming one of the most powerful rogues in the East.

Apparently Merlin was silent for too long, because Arthur changed the subject. “So what sort of a name is Merlin, anyways? It sounds Anglican.”

“I’ve no idea,” Merlin replied, his mind still stuck on the Witch Collins. “If you ever meet my mother, ask her.” The sunlight pouring through the window abruptly darkened, as if some thick cloud had obscured it.

“That’s right, you’re living with Gaius,” Arthur remembered. “So—.”

“Do you hear that?” interrupted Merlin. He blinked and strained his ears, listening hard.

Arthur yawned. “No, I—actually, yeah, I do hear something.” His eyes drooped happily. “What is that? It’s beautiful.”

Merlin looked to his left and saw the electric light on the wall flicker and go out. A wind pushed through the open windows, ruffling Merlin’s hair. He could hear a woman singing, and it was growing stronger. He felt the air become clearer as magic took it over. Realizing what was happening, Merlin covered his ear.

“Prince Arthur, cover your—!” He looked over to see Arthur slumping against the wall, on the floor, sound asleep.

Merlin gaped, his heart thudding in his chest. What was he to do? The singing was very close now. Should he hide? But where? And what if Arthur needed protecting?

The door at the end of the corridor burst open, and Merlin dropped to the ground, feigning sleep. He tried to quiet his panicked heart, but to no avail.

Gentle, purposeful footsteps made their way across the carpeted floor. Merlin began reviewing spells in his head.

“You took my son from me,” he heard the witch hiss, “I will take yours from you.” Then her voice dropped, and she spoke familiar words. An incantation.

Merlin sat up fast and pushed with his hands. His eyes glowed gold and the Witch Collins was thrown back into the wall. She screamed and the lights came back on when her head cracked against the stone. Arthur stirred. Merlin jumped to his feet.

The witch was stunned. Merlin stared at her, uncertain of what she would do. Then there was a shout from outside, and the sound of men charging through the castle. The knights were coming for her.

Panicked, the witch scrambled to her feet. She was old and gray and ugly, draped in mottled robes the color of dirt and despair. Her eyes were blue and crazed, perhaps on the verge of blindness. She pulled her cracked lips back over her yellow teeth and hissed furiously. Through the open door Uther and the knights appeared, and they pulled out their guns.

In an instant the witch had produced a knife from her robes and hurled it with deadly accuracy at the prince.

Had anyone else been standing beside the waking Arthur, the prince would have died.

But Merlin saw the weapon, and his magic worked on its own. His eyes went golden and time slowed without his saying so. He reached down and gripped the mortal prince tight around the arm, and pulled with a furious grunt. Arthur was yanked up and out of harm’s way.

Suddenly everything was normal again. Merlin gasped at what had just happened. The witch squinted at him. “Sor—,” she almost said, but there was a gunshot, and her head exploded to the right, and she fell like a plank to the castle floor.

Merlin stared at her corpse with wide eyes. The blood. Magic blood. It had a sheen like oil in the sunlight now showing through the windows. Merlin felt dizzyingly ill. He dropped to his knees and took several shuddering breaths. The hole in his shoulder panged, but it seemed infinitesimal now. Had Uther aimed just a little higher that night, Merlin would be the same as this witch, with glowing blood pooling out the back of his head—

A hand on his shoulder woke Merlin from his panic with a start. It was Arthur, not looking at the body, not at all. Instead, he was staring at Merlin with utter bewilderment in his blue eyes. “You… you just saved my life,” he stated, as if he could not believe it.

Merlin swallowed back his vomit and met Arthur’s eyes. It was easier than looking at the body.

Uther abruptly gripped both their shoulders and hoisted them to their feet. Merlin kept his focus on Arthur. He could not look at the dead witch another second. “You did!” Uther exclaimed. “You’ve saved my son! You brilliant boy, I must reward you!”

Somehow, Merlin found his voice. It came out strangled and shaky, but it was speaking nonetheless. “No, your majesty, I couldn’t—.”

“I insist!” cried the king. “You… you will be Arthur’s personal servant!”

“What?” Arthur and Merlin said together, the former more aware than the latter.

“Yes!”

Arthur stared. “Father, if the public finds out you rewarded a hero with servitude, we’ll have a rebellion.”

Uther considered this. He glanced at his knights, and they nodded their agreement. He pursed his lips. “Fine then,” he conceded. He looked at Merlin. “What would you like as your reward?”

Merlin blinked. “Um,” he said, no longer fearful of throwing up, “uh…”

“I’ve got it!” Uther nearly shouted, making them jump. “You, boy, will take on the honored position of being Prince Arthur’s personal _assistant!_ ” He nodded. “See, not servitude. Excellent. You start tomorrow.”

“What?” snapped Arthur.

“What?” Merlin said, slightly dazed.

“Leon, see that this gets cleaned up before Morgana can see it,” Uther ordered, walking away.

Leon nodded and put his gun away. “You two,” he instructed, forgetting Merlin and Arthur were there as he pointed at two knights, “remove the body. You, call the janitors to clean up.”

“Yes sir,” they said obediently, and got to work.

Merlin blinked at the seething Arthur. “I’m you… personal assistant now?” he managed.

Arthur shook his head. “Damn him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter wraps up what we see in the first episode of Merlin. Not all chapters will be as directly based on the original show as this one but I hope to keep this an interesting way of doing things. I'd love to know your thoughts! Thank you for reading.


	3. Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin meets the dragon, and realizes he and Arthur are closer than he ever thought.

From _Mortal Humanity_  


_During the Second Great Purge, King Jacob claimed to have captured the Great Dragon. The Druids never confirmed this, although the beast was written down as lost. It is unknown if Jacob ever even had the dragon in captivity, but he swore it until his death._

* * *

 

Merlin was very unhappy. For the past three days he had been following Arthur around like a puppy on a choke chain, being tugged this way and that, fetching coffee, retrieving homework, and the like. He did not hate the work, per se, more the person.

Arthur was very, very pompous. He was quick to forget their friendly conversation outside Morgana’s room and thoroughly enjoyed bossing Merlin around. Merlin could not hold back his snark. He kept retorting with a biting sarcasm that made Arthur look at Merlin like he wanted to box his ears. It was going to get him in serious trouble soon.

There were two upsides to constantly being at Arthur’s side. One was the food. Even though he was technically below the royal family, Merlin got to dine on exquisite mortal cuisine (much more refined than Druid food). He would get fat at this rate.

The second was how often Merlin saw the Lady Morgana.

Merlin had a very big crush on her. He didn’t call it that, of course. He had no knowledge of the street names for these feelings. He only had books to go off of, and from his novels he was fairly certain he was in love with her.

He had absolutely no idea what to do with these feelings.

Whenever he saw her, he smiled, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. She smiled at him often, and when she was not sick and confined to her room she was outside, in the sun, reading or playing cards with Gwen. Merlin wanted to join them, but Arthur was panic-stricken when it came to Gwen, so they went nowhere near them.

Meanwhile Merlin and Gwen became great friends. They happily worked through chemistry together and walked each other to class. Merlin loved her deeply. She was his first friend. He did not know it, but he would gladly have died for her.

It was on a Saturday that Merlin heard it again.

He was walking over to the palace at about ten, wondering what he would have to do to entertain Arthur today, when he heard his name on the wind.

Merlin froze on the spot. Around him, the people of Camelot continued their lives. They had noticed nothing amiss.

_Merlin…_

Merlin’s fist clenched and unclenched. “Who’s there,” he breathed.

_A friend. Come to me._

Merlin pursed his lips and shook his head. He continued towards the palace.

 _Emrys!_ The voice was adamant, and suddenly Merlin was facing away from the palace as if a strong gust of wind had picked him up and placed him that way.

“What? Stop!” Merlin cried. A woman passing by gave him a strange look. He smiled.

Abruptly he was picked up again and pushed across the street. “No, stop, stop, Arthur will get mad!” he protested.

The wind did not take him too far. It deposited him in front of a set of stairs descending into the earth, blocked off with some shabby wooden boards and a DO NOT ENTER sign. The people of Camelot strolled by it without giving it a second glance.

_Come, Emrys, I must speak with you._

Merlin grimaced and looked around. “Make it quick,” he muttered, and he ducked under the boards.

Darkness set quickly into this tunnel. Hesitantly Merlin lit a flame in his hand and descended the stone steps. The tunnel felt old, and manmade. Now that he was in it, he could feel something. It was both intoxicating and nauseating. He both wanted to find it and avoid it at all costs.

After awhile, the ground leveled. Merlin peered out. The same cracked stone floor made up this space, yellow-brown and old. It smelt of water and animal. He took a step out and kicked a stone, and the noise echoed infinitely. Glancing up, Merlin saw the cavern went from manmade structure to nature’s carving. Stalactites hung menacingly from the endless ceiling, going up so high it ceased to be brown and became a dark blue.

Carefully, Merlin stepped out onto the floor. It was some sort of platform, and perhaps he had read about what this was but could not place it. A short ways ahead of him, the floor dropped off, and as he crept closer he could see what was making him so ill. Two bands of anti-magic metal ran through the floor, glinting in his palm light. They were woven together with more AM material and even began to look warped.

_Ah. Emrys._

There was a whooshing noise, and an almighty thunder as something landed heavily on the other side of the metal. It knocked Merlin off his feet and put out his flame.

For a horrifying moment Merlin was blind. “ _F-forbaerne,_ ” he whispered, panicked.

The first thing he saw was the eyes.

“Whoa!” Merlin exclaimed, scrambling back.

“I have waited patiently for you, young warlock,” the beast spoke, and its voice echoed around them, gravelly and deep and ancient. “Finally, Emrys has come.”

Merlin blinked. Now he could see the creature in its entirety, and it did not ease his fear. A dragon—the biggest dragon he had ever seen. Every other dragon in the DruidKingdom was the size of a young tree, at best. Barely big enough to ride.

Not this dragon.

The great beast bowed its head. “It is an honor to meet you, Emrys,” the thing purred. “I am Kilgharragh.”

Merlin stared. “’Kay,” he agreed. Because who was he to argue with a dragon that massive?

“I have a message for you,” the dragon continued, as if expecting his nonresponse.

Merlin pursed his lips. “But, um, I… already got my dragon call,” he pointed out carefully.

“This is not a call to destiny,” Kilgharragh informed him. “Though yours is one any man would be rich to know.” The beast chuckled. “No. I bear a warning. I have carried it with me for years.” It paused, as if wanting to relish this moment. Finally, it said, “Lo, Emrys, the witch Fey cometh.”

For a long time there was silence. Then Merlin blinked. “That’s all?”

“The Dragon Covenant does not allow me to speak more on your destiny,” the dragon told him.

Merlin gawked at him. “Well what the hell am I supposed to do with that?” he exclaimed. “Is that a warning? A… a good thing? Honestly! That’s the most useless thing I’ve ever heard!”

The dragon scowled. “I would suggest you not treat my words with such spite,” it said bitingly.

“Okay, sure,” Merlin said. He bowed, because he had heard you were supposed to do that with wild dragons, though he did so mockingly. “Thank you ever so much for your advice. Now, I’m leaving before Arthur gets me arrested.” He turned on his heel and left.

“You will be back, Emrys!” the dragon called as he stomped back up the stairs.

* * *

 

“Merlin!” Arthur nearly shouted. Merlin did not flinch. “You are _late!_ ”

“I’m sorry, _sire,_ ” Merlin retorted.

Arthur shook his head and got right in Merlin’s face. “Do you know that today we are meeting with the king of Mercia and I am expected to be there _with_ my servant and I cannot do that if my servant is _late._ ” He drew back.

Merlin pursed his lips. “I didn’t want this job,” he reminded him.

“Well, the fact is you have it, and if you refuse to take it seriously I can assure you that your life will be hell.”

“I’ll quit.”

Arthur laughed. “And reject a favor of the king? No, you’ll stay until I say you’re done.” His grin fell. “Now go and fetch my ceremonial sword from the armory.”

Merlin hesitated, then bowed stiffly. “Yes sire,” he said through gritted teeth, and he left the room.

* * *

 

 _Damned prince,_ Merlin thought to himself. He cranked open the door to the armory and stepped inside. _Damned job. Damned city. Why did I leave home again?_ His eyes grew clouded as he remembered. Because he had been lonely. Because he knew no one besides his parents and a tutor. Because home, he was nothing.

Oh sure, he was the prince of the Druids. But that was just a title. No one actually _knew_ him. According to tradition, he was to remain anonymous to the world until his coronation. He had never spoken to, well, _anyone._ Except for Lady Freya, years ago. It was lonesome and horrible and he had hated it.

Briefly he wondered if his father had noticed his absence.

Merlin found the sword and exited the armory. Absently he closed the door again and turned the corner.

Somehow Merlin found himself on the stone floor, staring up at the beamed ceiling with the noise of metal clattering filling his ears.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Blinking, Merlin sat up. A girl—very pretty, and Merlin was beginning to wonder if only pretty girls existed—was scooping up a brass bowl and a towel. She was dressed in servant’s clothes, a plain shirt and pants, but the colors were wrong. Instead of red, she was clothed in powder blue.

Gingerly, she dabbed the towel on his shirt. Merlin realized vaguely that the contents of the bowl had spilled on him. “Really, I’m very sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention. Do forgive me. Don’t take this out on my master!”

Merlin stared at her. Her image was sharp and beautiful. He felt connected to her, somehow. “Um…” was all he could come up with.

The girl smiled. “I’m Cara,” she introduced. Her lips were very red.

Waking up, Merlin picked himself up and inspected his red Camelot shirt. It was just water. “I’m Merlin,” he replied, casting her a grin. “Are you a Mercian servant?” he inquired.

Cara nodded. “Yes, and you must be Camelotian.” She giggled.

Merlin wasn’t sure how to reply, so he nodded too.

Cara pressed her lips together and looked down shyly. “Well, I’d better get back to work,” she stated. She picked up Arthur’s blade and handed it to him. “Here’s your sword.”

Merlin took it. “Thanks.”

With a final embarrassed grin, Cara walked away. She looked back at him and he watched her go, bewildered by what had just transpired.

By the time he got back to Arthur, the prince was pacing. “Took your time, did you?” he snapped, snatching the sword from Merlin. He looked at his shirt. “What happened to you?”

Merlin looked down at his shirt and remembered. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Ran into someone.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’ve only known you for a week and I swear you are klutzier than a tangled puppet.” He sighed. “No time for you to change. Let’s go.”

Merlin sighed with exasperation and followed Arthur out, thinking about how he’d rather be with nice Cara than the mortal prince.

* * *

 

The meeting was endless. Merlin constantly had to stop himself yawning, and he had to stand behind Arthur, so no entertainment there. The only good thing was that he could see Cara. She smiled at him from across the room and he beamed back at her.

The Lady Morgana was not there. Apparently Uther did not involve her with politics, and she was too sickly at the moment to be present anyways. Merlin wished she was. Her beauty always made a room livelier.

After an awful lot of talking, Uther and Bayard of Mercia shook hands. Merlin wanted to collapse with relief. Arthur stood, and three goblets were brought forward on a sliver tray. This was traditional for mortal treaty signings. A cup was handed to Arthur, then to Uther, and the last to Bayard.

“A toast,” Uther declared, smiling at his son, “to a new alliance between the two great mortal kingdoms…”

While Uther spoke, Merlin caught Cara’s eye. The girl looked terrified. _Stop them,_ she mouthed.

Merlin frowned. _What?_

 _Arthur,_ her lips formed. _Stop Arthur._

 _Why?_ Merlin demanded.

Cara put her lips together fearfully and drew her finger across her throat.

Merlin’s eyes widened. He stepped forward in the middle of Uther’s speech and yelled, “Stop!”

Fifty pairs of eyes turned to look at Merlin. Uther turned around slowly. “What?”

Swallowing, Merlin lifted a shaking hand. “Arthur’s cup,” he said. “It’s poisoned.”

A gasp ran through the crowd. Immediately Arthur lowered the goblet and Uther turned to Bayard with accusing eyes.

The Mercian king laughed heartily. “No it’s not!” he exclaimed.

“Then drink it,” Merlin snapped.

Hesitation flickered across Bayard’s face. “Uther, you would do well to control your servants,” he said testily.

Arthur gave Merlin a furious gaze.

Uther scowled. “Before I punish the boy,” he began slowly, “perhaps we should test if his words have merit.”

Bayard shrugged. “Fine, make the lad drink from the cup. I have not tampered with it.” His gaze darkened. “If the boy lives, he is mine.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “N—.”

“Fair,” Uther replied, his eyes narrow. “And if he dies…” His eyes flashed. “We are at war.”

Again, the two kings shook hands, though they were much tenser this time. With a jerk of his head, Uther beckoned Merlin forward.

Merlin’s feet moved against his will. He looked for Cara and could not find her. What was he doing? If he died his whole country would be torn apart! They would be at war with Camelot! He was risking not only his life, but the lives of thousands of innocents. And for what? He didn’t even _like_ the prince of Camelot.

His trembling fingers found the neck of the golden cup. Slowly he took it from Arthur without seeing anything but the cup. Everything else was blurry. He brought it to his mouth and looked down at the blood red liquid. This could kill him. It wasn’t worth it. He could die.

He tipped the glass back and drank.

Merlin brought the cup away. The wine was bitter and went down like acid. He wiped at his lips shakily, his heart pounding in his chest.

Arthur was watching him, a look of panic on his face.

Then everything blurred. His stomach roiled and his throat closed. His head hit something—maybe the floor—and then everything went black.

* * *

 

Merlin was dreaming. He knew it, vaguely, and at the same time did not. He felt very heavy. In his dream he saw the dragon.

“Hello Emrys,” it greeted pleasantly.

Merlin blinked. Everything felt smoky. His tongue was sandpaper. “What’s going on?” he said thickly.

“You are dying,” the dragon informed him. “A bit before your time, too.”

Groaning, Merlin held his head. “Did I… did I drink the poison?” he asked.

“Mm,” Kilgharragh mused. “So brave for one so small.” It smiled a strange, animal smile. “And all ready to lay your head on the block for the mortal prince.”

Merlin shrugged. “Well I don’t want him to die,” he grumbled.

“No, you don’t.” The dragon crouched low, so that its great head was level with Merlin. “You and Arthur are destined for great things together. Two halves of the same coin.”

“What?” Merlin laughed.

The dragon turned its head. “Look,” it instructed. Merlin looked. A blurry image of Arthur appeared, dangling from the side of a rock, dressed in jeans and sneakers with a gun and a sword slung over his back. “He is risking his life to get an antidote for you.”

Merlin stared with wide eyes. “He’s going to fall!” he exclaimed.

“Then help him, young warlock.”

How was he to help if he was dreaming? Merlin wanted to ask. But he saw Arthur there, struggling, and the words simply came to him.

He spoke with confidence, quiet and sure of himself. His eyes flashed gold and a tiny ball of glowing white appeared by Arthur. The prince was startled by it, but seemed to understand it was good.

The vision dissipated.

Merlin whirled around to the dragon. “Is he all right?” he demanded. “Put it back, show me!”

Kilgharragh peered down at him. “Young warlock, I do not heed you. I am not bound by any ordinance to help you and yet I will. You would do well to show me some respect.”

Merlin scowled but did not retort. “What happened?” he murmured. “With Bayard, I mean. Why was the cup poisoned?”

The dragon gave him a simpering look. “Beings of magic are all connected. We can feel the presence of our fellows.” It cocked its head. “You seem to have confused yours with… another hormone.”

Annoyed, Merlin rolled his eyes, but he thought back through the day nevertheless. Realization broke on his face and he felt betrayed. “Cara!” he cried.

The dragon gave a sigh. “Yes. _Cara._ ”

“Oh my God,” Merlin breathed. “She’s a sorceress! And I didn’t see it! What is the matter with me?” He broke off, pondering. “But… if she wanted to kill Arthur, why warn me?”

With exasperation, the dragon laid its head on the ground. “I weep for the Druids,” it said. “Emrys, if you can sense a being with as little power as this woman, what does that make you?”

Merlin bit his lip, finally understanding.

“She either thinks you a traitor to the Druids, or competition in her world.” Kilgharragh blinked. “Your prince is returning. I shall not visit you in this way again. It wears me too much. You must come to me.”

“But—,” Merlin began, but suddenly he was being pulled up out of the fog of his dream. It was like surfacing from deep water. He broke into consciousness with a gasp and felt his body spasm painfully.

“Merlin!” Without warning someone was kissing him, and he opened his eyes. Gwen pulled back and straightened herself, blushing. She looked away from him, and tried to act like nothing happened, before twisting her skirt and murmuring, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s all right,” Merlin gasped, shocked. “More than all right.” He gave an idiotic grin. Gaius sighed and rolled his eyes. Merlin looked around. He was not in the clinic, but a wing of the castle. Perhaps the infirmary. “What happened?”

“You drank poison, you idiot, about ten hours ago” Gaius snapped. “A magical poison, which could only be cured by a ridiculous and very obscure flower, which Prince Arthur just risked _everything_ to retrieve.”

“I know that,” Merlin said. Then he wished he hadn’t.

Gwen peered at him curiously. Gaius’s eyes bulged.

“I mean,” Merlin stumbled, “who else would be stubborn enough to do that?”

This made Gwen laugh, and she bowed her head with embarrassment. “I’d better go see Morgana now,” she admitted. She smiled. “She’ll be glad to know you’re awake.” Quietly, Gwen left the room.

Gaius gaped at Merlin. “How did everyone in this castle become so infatuated with you?” he demanded.

Merlin shrugged. “Must be my charm.”

“Yes, that’s it. Can you stand?”

Unsure, Merlin lifted his head, only to find the movement made his vision swim. “No,” he groaned.

“How fortunate,” Gaius remarked. “Because if you could I’d have you cleaning every inch of my clinic.”

Merlin took a deep breath, trying to calm his nausea. Really, this feeling of sickness was occurring too often for his liking. “Oh well.”

Gaius shook his head, staring at his ward. “Why did you do it?” he inquired. He sat down beside Merlin’s bed and peered at him. “Be honest now, why risk your life for Arthur?”

Merlin looked at his guardian, then at the ceiling. “Honestly, I don’t know,” he confessed. “Why would he do the same for me?” he wondered. He looked at Gaius. “You know it wasn’t Bayard who poisoned him?”

The old man nodded. “Even if he had wanted to kill Arthur, he would never have been able to get his hands on a malady like that. I explained that to Uther, and he released Bayard.” Gaius leaned forward. “You know Uther’s conclusion, I assume?”

For a moment, Merlin was confused. Then it hit him like a battering ram. “He thinks it was me,” he breathed.

Gaius said solemnly, “The king is howling for war.”

Merlin sighed so that he did not scream. His shoulder ached, he could hardly move, and now he had started a war. All because he’d felt a little lonely. He was a damn fool.

“I’ve convinced Uther to seek further proof.”

Merlin looked at him, relief shining in his eyes. “So we can save this?” he wondered hopefully.

Gaius grimaced. “He’s sent out a summons to Balinor,” he told him “He wants to speak with the Druid King.”

“Damn,” Merlin muttered. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“No, he doesn’t, and he just might start a war if you’re not careful.” Gaius gave him a warning look. “We need to figure this out, _now,_ and as soon as your father leaves I’m sending you straight home.”

Merlin wanted to protest, desperately, but he saw what was happening and knew it would be safest. “I want to stay,” he mumbled, the face of Morgana coming to his mind.

Gaius looked away sadly, and Merlin knew he wanted him to stay too. “Get some rest,” he told him. 


	4. Griffin

_Griffins are the pests of this earth. While dragons are more ferocious, griffins lack any sort of intelligence. They are carnivorous animals obsessed with feeding and do not sympathize with anything, even their own young._

* * *

 

Two days ago Merlin had been poisoned. His body was recovering fast. Magically fast. Gaius spun some tale about the antidote and Arthur, Gwen, and Morgana ate it up. Uther did not care.

His first day back at class was interesting. Apparently he had missed some irredeemably important lecture notes for Chemistry and would have to get them from Gwen. Gwen, of course, was happy to provide.

She walked with him to his French class, like usual. And something very strange had taken place while Merlin was gone.

“Hello, Lancelot,” Gwen greeted. They had arrived early to French, and Gwen was lingering. She did not linger two days ago. She gave the professor her prettiest smile and swayed a little bit.

Lancelot beamed at her. “Lovely to see you, Gwen,” he said, and he looked genuine. “Are you liking the book I gave you?”

Gwen’s eyes went wide. “Oh, it’s amazing!” she cooed, leaning on his desk with obvious flirtation. “Honestly, I love it. I’ve been reading it to Morgana because she’s been so sick, but I just couldn’t wait and kind of finished the whole thing.” She blushed.

Lancelot lit up. “What did you think of the ending?”

“Oh, the _ending,_ ” Gwen said, and her whole body said the word. “It was genius. And it made perfect sense! The whole thing is an allegory for Christianity.”

“Yes, exactly!” Lancelot exclaimed. “Why does no one else see it? I’ve debated for hours with my professors over that book and they all claim it’s embracing utilitarianism. But it’s not!”

Merlin stood there stupidly, watching this exchange with utter confusion. He also watched their hands, which drew closer across the surface of the desk. And closer. They kept making _eyes_ at each other, and it was so obvious it made Merlin uncomfortable. He turned and sat down and opened up the first book he found in his bag. His chemistry book. Good. He needed to study this anyways.

The rest of the class filed in, and Lancelot looked at the clock. “Oh, god, I’ve got to start class.” He smiled sheepishly.

Gwen blinked. “Whoops. I’m going to be late then. Bye!” She spun around and hurried from the room.

Lancelot watched her go.

Merlin looked about at his fellow students. All of them were staring at their professor, who was grinning idiotically after Merlin’s best friend. Beside him, Gwaine let out a soft whistle. “Well those two are shagging more than a mop, if you know what I mean,” he chuckled. “Or at least, they want to be.”

“Don’t tell Arthur,” Percival cautioned with genuine pity in his eyes. “It’d break his heart.”

“And ruin our season,” Gwaine added.

It took Lancelot a little bit to get over his embarrassment, but soon he was enthusiastically spewing French and writing different verb forms all over the white board. Merlin let his mind drift. He considered Lancelot and Gwen and decided that was fine. He did feel bad for Arthur, though. The poor sap had really no clue about courting women, and Merlin learned a lot of what not to do by watching the mortal prince.

Eventually, Merlin’s thoughts went to Cara, the witch who had poisoned him. Was it possible she knew he real name? Who he was? He should ask the dragon. Kilgharragh seemed to possess infinite knowledge.

But he had to be with Arthur after class. The prince needed “help” training, which meant that Merlin was going to stand in front of the goal and be pummeled by footballs.

Perhaps he could take a detour and—

Merlin blinked. Every eye in the room was turned to him. He straightened up apologetically. “ _Quoi?_ ”

Lancelot looked at him, and Merlin could see the disappointment in his gaze. Rapidly he repeated the question. Merlin answered it easily and then tried to be more attentive.

* * *

 

“Sorry,” Merlin said after class. “I was just… daydreaming.”

Lancelot shrugged. “It’s all right. Really, it’s not an exciting class.” He smiled good naturedly.

Merlin grinned back. “So, _Sir_ Lancelot, are you—?”

“Merlin!”

Both Lancelot and Merlin jumped. Prince Arthur strolled into the room, a book bag slung over his shoulder. It smacked against his leg as he walked. “What are you doing out?”

Merlin stared at him. “I’m… recovered, Arthur, I’m doing fine,” he told him hesitantly.

“Recovered?” Lancelot inquired. “Were you ill?”

“Ill?” Arthur snorted. “He was on his deathbed. Get back to Gaius, this instant, else—.”

“Gaius let me out,” Merlin protested.

“What does he know? And did you just interrupt your prince?” Arthur scowled. Then he seemed to notice Lancelot. “Who are you?”

Lancelot blinked. “Lancelot du Lac. I’m a substitute for Professor Waters,” he said routinely.

Arthur evaluated him, the anger leaving his eyes. “Are you?” he questioned softly.

The teacher swallowed and nodded.

“I don’t remember your name on my father’s roster,” Arthur noted.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin interrupted. He could see that the prince was figuring it out and was determined to protect the teacher. “He’s a good teacher. It’s not his fault he’s not—.” He broke off and went silent.

For a moment, Arthur considered this. He looked Lancelot up and down, glanced at the papers on his desk. Finally he looked at Merlin. “It’s against the law,” he said quietly.

“I understand,” Lancelot stated. “I will leave.”

“No!” Merlin argued. “Your birth should have nothing to do with your right to teach!”

“It’s not just that, Merlin,” Arthur said with a sigh. “My father is very particular about these things. He only lets nobles be knights, too. And often, the knights apply as teachers first.” Arthur slowly lifted a piece of paper from Lancelot’s desk. It was baby blue and thin, and Merlin could nearly see through it. “I can’t just let this go by, Mr. du Lac.”

“Of course,” Lancelot replied. He reached out a trembling hand and pulled the paper from Arthur’s fingers. “It was… just a boyhood dream, after all.”

Merlin could not believe what he was seeing. In the Druid kingdom, mages were chosen based on their magical ability. There were nobles, and their blood usually ran better, but it was not a contributing factor. “Arthur,” Merlin snapped, turning to face the prince, “he doesn’t deserve this.”

Arthur scowled. “I am not the king,” he said firmly. “And until I am there is nothing I can do for him.”

“Let him prove his worth.”

“Merlin—,” Lancelot tried.

“My father _won’t care,_ ” Arthur nearly growled. Merlin set his jaw and did not retort. Arthur looked to Lancelot. “I don’t want to ask you to leave.”

Lancelot forced a smile. “I know,” he said quietly. He reached under the desk and produced a filing briefcase. “I’ll pack up.”

Arthur nodded. “Let’s go, Merlin,” he ordered.

Merlin did not move. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Lancelot extended his hand. Merlin recognized this as a mortal custom and shook it. “I’ll see you again, I’m sure.” He winked, and Merlin managed to smile. Then he and Arthur left the classroom in silence.

Arthur kept glancing at Merlin as they walked. Merlin was determined not to look at him. “Ahem.” Arthur cleared his throat. “So, um, you’re doing better?”

“Yes,” Merlin said shortly.

Unexpectedly Arthur clapped him hard on the back. “Then I look forward to training later. Cheerio.” He smiled and strutted away. 

Merlin stared after him with disbelief. How could anyone be so arrogant? _How?_

* * *

 

Merlin had to run so as not to be late to his history class. He skidded into the classroom just as the professor was getting to his feet and buttoning his jacket closed. He looked startled as Merlin entered, and blinked at him behind his glasses. “Won’t you sit down, Merlin,” he said eventually. “We’re about to start.”

Nodding, Merlin went for the seat that was generally his, only to find it occupied.

The Lady Morgana stared up at him owlishly, as if she could not believe his presence.

“Merlin.” The professor teetered on his toes.

Immediately Merlin dropped into the seat next to Morgana. He tried not to look at her as he retrieved his notebook and pencil, and focused his gaze straight ahead while his entire focus was on the sound of her breathing beside him.

What was she doing here? She had not been in the class when Merlin started. Her illness? Probably. Which would mean that Merlin had taken _her_ seat, and not the other way around. But Merlin was happy to give up his seat to her.

The entire hour Merlin was painfully aware of her every movement. Every scratch of her pencil, every tap of her index finger, every toss of her hair. He tried very hard not to look at her, but she seemed to be a magnet for his eyes. They kept drifting that way of their own accord.

The class ended and Merlin was no wiser on the subject of history. He did hear something about a test coming up, so he wrote down “study” in his notebook.

“Study?” Morgana noted, and Merlin jumped. The lady was leaning back in her chair, chewing absently at her pencil. She wore dark jeans and a forest green blouse, and her eyes seemed to shine.

Merlin had already forgotten what he wrote, and he had to check. “Yes, it’s my to-do list,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Morgana smirked. “Mine is the same, actually,” she noted coyly. She leaned forward and took the pencil from her mouth, adding “w/ Morgana” to Merlin’s list. “There.”

Merlin’s heart pounded like a horse’s hooves. “But my lady,” he began, “you didn’t specify when.” He straightened up, proud of his word choice.

The lady raised her eyebrows. “When do you like?”

“I’m bound to Arthur until seven.”

“Then seven ten,” Morgana decided. She smiled. “Come prepared.” Then she stood up and picked up her bag in one fluid motion, and before Merlin could really register what had just happened she was gone.

* * *

 

Merlin had only spoken to four human beings before coming to Camelot: his mother, his father, his tutor, and Lady Freya Silverblood, because there had been an idea to betroth the two that Hunith had vehemently opposed. Only his parents had seen him without his cloak. Merlin had not been allowed out of his room without his cloak, and really no one was allowed to speak to him if they saw him.

The only experience Merlin had with the outside world were books. Queen Hunith brought him dozens of books, and King Balinor was thrilled to let him read. So he read everything. And every social protocol he knew had been in the books he’d read.

Before going to Camelot, he had studied up on mortal social relationships so he would be prepared to interact with the people. He felt remarkably unprepared for a date with the Lady Morgana.

“Sire,” Merlin began, then stopped, halfway through restacking targets. Today’s training had been archery. _Archery._ It had quickly become Merlin’s least favorite training.

Arthur pulled his archer’s glove off and blinked. “What’s the matter, Merlin?” he inquired. He put his foot on the bench to untie it.

Merlin hesitated. Asking the prince of Camelot about how to go on a date with his sister seemed like a very bad idea.

“How are—?” No. Don’t ask about Gwen. Not after the whole Lancelot affair.

The prince looked at Merlin expectantly. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said. He put the targets up and turned around. “Will that be all, sire?”

Arthur frowned. “Something on your mind?” he asked teasingly. He strutted towards Merlin, and Merlin sought an explanation. Luckily, he didn’t have to, for Arthur’s eyes went wide and his grin fell. “Is it about Lancelot?” he murmured.

The subject of Lancelot had been nagging at the back of Merlin’s mind the entire day. He latched onto this as his excuse. “A little,” he admitted.

“Merlin, I really couldn’t do anything,” Arthur said gently. “Really, the best I could do was get him out of there before my father found out and had him imprisoned.”

“Prince Arthur!” One of the knights, missing his suit jacket, appeared in the doorway of the weapons storage. “A griffin has been sighted circling the town.”

Arthur straightened. “Clear the streets,” he ordered. “Merlin, ready my bow.” He marched back to his boots and put them back on rapidly.

Confused, Merlin grabbed the bow off its hook on the wall and slipped more arrows in the quiver by his feet. “A griffin, sire?” he questioned. “Here?”

“I think there’s a flock nesting on the mountain,” Arthur told him, grabbing his bow from Merlin, who followed him. “This is the third griffin we’ve seen in the last two weeks. The last one took a little boy.” His expression was steely as he walked. “This one will pay for that.” He glanced at the stables, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled.

The stallion came almost immediately, galloping hard across the grass. It was missing its saddle, and its reins flopped about in front of it. The horse came to a skidding stop beside its master and clopped its feet as it waited to be mounted.

Arthur jumped aboard fluidly, as if he had done this his whole life. “Quiver,” he ordered, hand out. Merlin gave it to him, and he slung it over his back.

“Are… are you going alone?” Merlin said incredulously. “Bareback? On a horse?”

“Better aim than a car,” Arthur stated. “And hunting griffin must be done alone. “Give it only one target and its easier.” He kicked his heels and the horse sprinted off.

Merlin gaped after him. He looked at the stables. He knew what he was going to do.

* * *

 

Getting a horse out of the stable was much harder than Merlin had expected. Mounting was nigh impossible, and since he didn’t know how to saddle a horse he bounced along painfully as the animal ran at full gallop after Arthur. Merlin gripped the reins like a lifeline and spat mane out of his mouth.

Once again, the streets were eerily empty. He glimpsed eyes peering out of windows as he thundered down the cobblestone streets. Ominously, he heard a vicious shriek.

The griffin.

“Turn,” Merlin said. He was hoping Arthur was in the square, the only place open enough for him to be properly exposed. “Turn!” He yanked at the reins, and to his immense surprise, the beast turned.

And screeched to a halt.

“Whoa horse!” someone shouted.

Merlin glanced around the head of his panting horse and could not believe his eyes. “Lancelot?” he cried.

The teacher was holding a suitcase, and wore a hat meant for travel. “Merlin?” he said in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?” Merlin snapped.

“Leaving, what the hell are you doing?”

“Saving the prince!”

Lancelot’s face went from confusion to hope. He dropped his suitcase and appeared at Merlin’s side. “Move over,” he ordered. “I can ride a horse.”

Merlin scooted back and Lancelot jumped up using a windowsill, landing in front of Merlin and grabbing hold of the reins. “All right,” the French teacher said, and he sounded thrilled. “Hold onto me.

Obedient, Merlin put his arms around Lancelot’s waist. The horse reared, taking him by surprise. Lancelot’s hat flew off as the mare took off in a sprint, taking them to Arthur and perhaps their doom.

Above, Merlin could hear wings flapping. His heart pounded. Griffins were pests, known for picking off livestock with their treacherous claws. He did not want to meet those claws.

Lancelot egged the horse on, whipping the reins and making the animal whinny. As if in response, the griffin screamed.

They came barreling into the square, only to see Arthur riding in circles about the fountain, an arrow poised to shoot. Merlin looked up and there was the griffin.

It was bigger than he had imagined. Bigger than most dragons. Its body was gold, like a lion’s, and its back legs pedaled uselessly in the air. Its head was the tawny brown of an eagle, feathered and beaked with beady birdlike eyes. And at its front were two sets of shining claws, more curling and menacing than dragon teeth.

Worst of all, every time Arthur let loose an arrow, the beast let out a horrific screech. It was enough to make Merlin’s ears bleed.

At that moment, Arthur happened to glance them. He did a double take and nearly fell off his horse. “Merlin!” he cried, shocked.

The griffin saw its chance and swooped down. A set of claws swung out, and caught Arthur across the arm. The prince let out a terrific cry of pain and was thrown to the ground, hard. The griffin screeched with victory and turned back sharply. It touched the ground and its claws pulled back, and it charged across the square.

Merlin’s heart stopped. He tightened his grip around Lancelot. _I have to save him,_ he thought. _How can I save him? I have to—_

“ _Ahredde hine,_ ” he breathed. The spell was like an inhale, turning his eyes gold for the briefest of instants.

The griffin tripped. It squawked with surprise and careened over itself, tearing up cobblestones until it abruptly cracked its head on the fountain and went still.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then Merlin slid off the horse and hobbled over to Arthur, panic in his eyes. “Arthur?” he said, kneeling by his side.

The prince groaned and tried to move. The griffin had only caught his shoulder, and the wound did not look too deep, although it bled profusely. Merlin grimaced and remembered the pain in his own shoulder. _We match now,_ he thought bitterly as he pulled his shirt over his head and proceeded to tear it to strips to staunch the bleeding.

“You’re all right, sire,” Merlin assured him. “You’ll wake up tomorrow as pratty as ever.” He smiled.

“Merlin.”

Merlin froze. He had forgotten Lancelot. Hesitantly, he turned around. “Yeah?” he said uncertainly.

Lancelot gazed at him hard. “I heard what you said,” he told him quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin answered immediately, his eyes becoming fierce.

“I won’t tell,” Lancelot said. Merlin’s defensive expression softened. “Not a soul.”

Merlin did not know what to say. He looked at him for a long time. “Thank you, Lancelot,” he said finally, and he meant it. He smiled. “Let’s get the prince to Gaius.” 


	5. Panic Rising

_A dragon call is a Druid’s call to destiny. Every Druid, at some point in their life, is spoken to by a dragon, which then informs them something of their future. This is a rite of passage for all Druids, much like how mortal nobles used to have quests. It is considered sacred and something many Druids gloat about once it has passed._

* * *

 

A man slouched in his study, dressed in tan trousers and a loose white shirt. His black hair brushed his shoulders and bore streaks of silver. Tired brown eyes looked reluctantly at the letter held feebly between his fingers. He read it for the third time, and finally he sighed. “Send the queen in,” he ordered.

The servant standing in front of his desk bowed and walked out. The man set the letter on his desk and ran a hand through his hair.

It was a few minutes before the Druid queen strode in, clad in a light dress with her hair tied back. Her face held the beginnings of age, but she smile radiantly nonetheless. “You wanted me, dear?” she said, calmly.

King Balinor picked up the letter and waved it at her. “Is this true?” he demanded. “Is it?”

Hunith shrugged. “I can’t tell you if I don’t know what it is,” she said simply.

Balinor snapped the paper to straighten it. He read, “‘To King Balinor of the Druids from King Uther of Camelot. Our nations are not peaceful. The act of Prince Emrys crossing the border is a declaration of war. If you do not agree to meet by the end of the month we will launch an attack.’” He threw the letter on the desk. “Where is Merlin?”

“He is safe,” she told him.

“ _Where?_ ”

Hunith straightened up. She was not one to be pushed around by her husband. “With my uncle, Gaius. It was all prearranged. Merlin received his dragon call and had to go to Camelot. I provided him with protection and cover.”

“And now he has started a war!” Balinor shouted, getting to his feet.

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Finally, Hunith pursed her lips into a thin line and said, “I may not be of magic, Balinor, but I do understand the meaning of a dragon call. Merlin was told to go to Camelot, and he could not have done it alone.”

Balinor sighed, regretting his outburst. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he murmured. “I would have helped.” He grimaced as he sat back down. “Well, maybe I would have.”

“He’s lonely, Balinor,” Hunith told him sincerely. “I never wanted my son to live like that.”

Again, there was silence. Balinor rested his head on his hand. “I have to go get him,” he said quietly.

“What if he’s happy there?” asked Hunith, coming to kneel by her husband’s chair. “What if he doesn’t want to leave?”

Balinor did not blink. “He has to come home, or thousands will die.”

“Don’t be so cryptic,” she criticized, and he glanced up at her. “You’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep him there.” She shrugged. “And he’s a smart boy. Perhaps he already has a plan.” She kissed her husband on the cheek and left the study.

Balinor sighed and decided to follow his wife. He glimpsed his servant in the hall and beckoned him. “Send a message to Camelot, urgent,” he commanded. “Tell Uther I’m leaving tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

“Are you?” the servant queried, taking notes on a pad of paper produced from his pocket.

“God no,” Balinor laughed. “I want to put off this meeting as long as I can. No, we’ll leave after lunch, maybe.”

“Do you want dragons or horses?” The servant glanced up.

Balinor thought for a moment. “Horses. We’re not going to war. We must appear peaceful.” He patted his servant’s shoulder. “Make lunch something good tomorrow, eh?”

“Yes sire,” the servant agreed with a small bow. Balinor smiled, and he walked off.

* * *

 

Merlin was exhausted, but it didn’t matter what happened, the history test was still on. So at ten at night, after Arthur had finally fallen asleep, Merlin had crawled away to Morgana’s chambers. They were currently sprawled out on the floor, with books and notes in front of them. So not much of a date, he supposed. But he certainly liked Morgana’s room. Somehow the air felt fresher than the air outside.

“I’m never going to get this America stuff,” Merlin complained. He let the paper float back to the rug and frowned at his copy of _Mortal Humanity_. “It’s too much to remember.”

“If you just remember that they never lose,” Morgana said idly, “you should be good.”

Merlin sighed and gazed up at the ceiling from where he lay on the floor. His eyes wandered and he saw the little orange bottles on Morgana’s bedside table. “So what is your medication for, anyways?” he asked with yawn.

Morgana glanced at the bottles and tiredly dropped the paper she had been scrutinizing. “I, um… I get really bad headaches,” she explained, closing her eyes. “And nightmares.” She picked herself up off the floor and retrieved the bottles, sitting down closer to him and showing them to him one at a time. “See, this one is because I have headaches, but they make me nauseous. So these,” she said, picking up the next, “are for the nausea. But _those_ pills make me sleepy. So then I have these ones that keep me awake through the day.” She set those three down and picked up a fourth bottle. “These ones are for my nightmares. It used to be a serum, but that taste was so awful that Gaius replaced it.”

“Nightmares?” Merlin repeated, taking the bottle from her. “I’ve never heard of nightmares that bad.”

“Gaius calls them ‘night terrors’,” she told him. “It’s a sleep disorder. Bit different from nightmares. I don’t usually remember them.”

Merlin read the small print on the container with interest. “Does this one have unpleasant side effects?”

Morgana shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it makes food less appealing. It doesn’t always work though,” she stated. “I still get pretty terrible ones.” She rubbed her head as if remembering one. “I wish they would go away.” Abruptly she took the bottle from his fingers. “Anyway,” she said, “that’s what the pills are.”

“That must be terrible,” Merlin told her.

Again, the lady shrugged. “I’ve lived with it long enough.”

Merlin propped himself up on his elbow. “So, I have to ask, if you’re Arthur’s sister, why aren’t you a princess?”

She fell silent.

Merlin suddenly realized this was a bad subject. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, I—.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. She sat down with him again. “My mother wasn’t the queen,” she informed him carefully. “She was someone Uther met before he married his queen. By the time Queen Igraine was pregnant I had been born, and was delivered to Uther.” Sensing the awkwardness caused by her story, Morgana jumped to another subject. “So what about you?” she inquired, beaming. “Tell me about your background.”

Merlin found himself grimacing. “You sure you don’t want to study?” he tried, sensing danger.

Morgana rolled her eyes at him. “Merlin I cannot recall anything I’ve looked at for the last half hour. Now do tell me about your life. Country boy, yes?”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed quickly, trying to remember the story he had set up for himself. “Ealdor. Just outside Camelot’s borders.”

“Never heard of it,” Morgana told him cheerily.

Merlin’s tension broke into relief. He didn’t have to worry about his facts so much. “You wouldn’t have,” he told her with a smile. “We’re rather small.”

“Oh, wait, I have.” She paused. “Wasn’t the Druid queen born there?” Morgana stated.

For a moment, Merlin started to sweat, until he realized this must be common knowledge. So using the same town his mother was from was a bad idea, it looked. “Yes. Most acknowledgment we’ve ever gotten.”

Morgana nodded. “Gwen tells me you’re a swimmer?” She inclined her head. “Tore a ligament in your shoulder?”

Merlin’s hand flew self-consciously to the wound on his shoulder. It was healing tremendously slowly. “Yeah,” was all he could answer with.

“You know our school has a swim team.”

Uh oh. “No, I’m done swimming,” Merlin told her. He rolled his shoulder experimentally and did not fake the grimace of pain that flashed across his face. “This is the last in a long line of injuries. It’s not worth it.”

“Oh,” she said. “Shame. We need more swimmers.”

Merlin realized his mistake and swallowed. “So you’re on the swim team?”

“Not as much as I’d like to be,” she told him.

Back in the Druid kingdom, Merlin had been cut off from most of life, but he still knew what went on. Druids had sports. His own father enjoyed a variation of Frisbee and rugby that involved magical alterations to the field. Merlin had never been allowed to play. When his father was not around he had snuck into the ranks and played, and been beaten so badly he could not lift his hood for weeks, lest his father see.

Only recently had Druids been allowed in the Olympics, under the pretense that no magic was used. The athletes had to wear AM uniforms to prevent any magical cheating. However, the outfits wore them down physically as well, and despite Druid protests about fairness the rule stayed.

“I was never all that interested in swimming,” he told her, like it was some big confession. “But I had friends who were. I’m sorry.”

Morgana shrugged again. “I can start again next week. Gaius said to take it easy, though.” She smirked. “I won’t though. Can’t let my team down.”

Merlin cocked his head. “You’re very like Arthur,” he noted.

“People say that,” she agreed, “but I don’t see it.”

“Well, you’re much prettier,” he informed her. He blushed at his boldness.

Morgana giggled. “You should go,” she said softly, still smiling. “Uther will throw a fit if he finds out you’re still here.”

“Is he very protective?” Merlin inquired.

“Barely lets me outside,” she told him with a sigh. Merlin nodded. He could relate.

With a yawn, Merlin picked up his notebooks and pushed them into his bag. “See you tomorrow,” he told her.

She stood up. “We should study together more often,” she stated.

“Yes,” Merlin said, too quickly.

Morgana beamed at him. “Good night, Merlin,” she said with false exasperation.

Merlin bowed slightly. “Good night, my lady.”

* * *

 

Gaius was not awake when Merlin walked in. Instead, the kitchen light was on, and a note was sitting on the table that read _Don’t be late_. Merlin pursed his lips, wondering if he should make this up to Gaius. He did want to stay.

He went to bed contemplating this, and when he slept he dreamed about it, but it did not give him a solution.

* * *

 

“Sit up,” Gaius instructed Merlin. He obeyed, sitting up straighter while trying to eat Cheerios. His shirt was off, and the physician was inspecting the wound in his shoulder. Again.

“How much longer till it heals?” he asked, chewing.

“Oh, another week, I’d say,” Gaius said speculatively. “Two if you keep running amok like you do.”

“I was studying with the Lady Morgana!”

Gaius stepped back, his expression one of horror. For a moment, he and Merlin stared at each other. Then the physician took a deep breath and said, very carefully, “Merlin, when your mother told me you were… _deprived…_ I thought it was something I could deal with. But this—.”

“Wait,” Merlin interrupted, horror showing in his eyes, “are you thinking that I—? With the Lady?” he exclaimed. He began to feel massively uncomfortable at the mere thought of it and had to look away. “Gaius, I wasn’t—I didn’t—God. Do you really think I’m that much of an idiot!? Uther would rip me apart!”

Gaius hesitated. “Nothing I should be worried about then?”

“No.”

“All right,” he said, and he changed Merlin’s bandages with renewed vigor, indeed ripping them off too fast and making Merlin wince. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Merlin hesitated. “So you’re not angry about last night?”

Gaius gave him a smile. “No. I understand why you were late. I’m just thankful nothing is going on, else I’d have to let your father take you home.”

Merlin blinked. “What do you mean?”

The physician’s tone dropped. “Balinor is on his way,” Gaius told him severely. “The king received a message last night and Balinor should be here by sundown.”

“ _What!?_ ”

“Don’t shout Merlin. I’m old but I’m not deaf.”

“Gaius, what should I do?” Merlin cried.

“Keep your tone level,” Gaius said plainly. “Now hold still, I have to put this on.” He stuck the bandage to Merlin’s stiff shoulder, flattened it out, and retreated. “Now, Merlin, what we are going to do is very simple.”

Merlin slid his shirt back on and stared. “So you have a plan?”

“I do.”

Merlin waited. Gaius said nothing. “What is it?” he demanded.

Gaius smiled. “Go to your classes,” he told him. “I have work to do.” He patted his ward on the shoulder and left the kitchen.

*CUT*

“So you have a plan?”

“No. But you are going to go about your day, like normal, and I am going to take the day off to figure something out.” Gaius looked at him seriously. “We can’t afford for you to come under any suspicion, Merlin. You must act natural.”

* * *

 

How was Merlin expected to “act natural” when his _father_ was coming to Camelot? He was antsy all through Chemistry. He did not even realize he was in French class. His history test was a disaster, and he hoped his handwriting was shaky enough that the teacher simply gave up. Morgana noticed and tried to ask him what was wrong, but he could not answer her. Instead he said, “I have to go,” and all but ran off.

He went to see the dragon. He could think of nowhere else to go, and no one else to talk to.

“What should I do?” he pleaded with it. The great beast blinked its yellow eyes and watched him amusedly. “I… I’ve started a war! That’s what I’ve done.”

“Not yet,” the dragon reminded him. “Young warlock, destiny is not fickle. It cannot be altered. What you are destined for has not yet played out.”

“So there can’t be a war?” Merlin asked hopefully.

The dragon peered at him. “I did not say that.”

Merlin sat down on the floor, not caring how dusty it was. “If my father comes,” he said quietly, “and I am found out, I will lose… everything.”

“Everything?” the dragon queried.

“Everything,” Merlin said, and he meant it. “I don’t have much, but its more than I’ve ever had and I don’t want to lose it. I can’t. I can’t go back to a life without Gwen, or Arthur, or Morgana, or Gwaine, or Gaius. I… I won’t.” To his surprise, Merlin felt close to tears. He hadn’t cried in years. He’d had no reason to. Now he had something to lose, and it hurt.

The dragon seemed to sense his despair, for when it spoke again, it had lost its mocking tone. “Merlin,” it said gently, “you have something worth fighting for.” It lowered its head, so that it was eye level with him. “Now go _fight._ ”

Merlin wet his lips and gazed at the great beast. “How?” he whispered.

The dragon pulled back. It did not answer. Instead it unfurled its great wings and pulled back into the darkness. Merlin could hear it flying, filling the abandoned tunnel with _whoosh, whoosh_ as if the wind were blowing through.

Merlin sat there alone for a long time, staring furiously into the dark. He wished it would come back. He hated its cryptic advice and circular answers. He wished he was like his father, a full-fledged dragonlord, because he could force it back and make it talk. But he was not.

Eventually he got up, dusted himself off, and returned to Gaius.

* * *

 

“Did you come up with a plan?” Merlin asked hopelessly. He collapsed on the wooden chair at the kitchen table, which was covered in books and papers.

Gaius came into the room, another book in his hands and a pen in his mouth. He shook his head and sat down across from him. “I’ve been looking, Merlin,” he said as he took the pen from his mouth. “I don’t even know what for. And I have found nothing.”

Merlin groaned. “And the stupid dragon had nothing to say either,” he told him.

“What dragon?” Gaius said, looking up sharply.

For a moment, Merlin paused. Oops. “The one Uther has captive under Camelot?” he tried.

“In a tube tunnel?” Gaius supplied.

“You’ve met him?” Merlin wondered.

Gaius nodded. “So that’s where you’ve been going,” he said. He went back to his book. “Back to the matter at hand, I can see no solution, Merlin. You really don’t have an excuse for being in Camelot. They will never accept a dragon call as a reason, and they won’t be happy until they know you’re gone.”

Merlin sighed. “I know.”

“Then let’s hope your father has a plan.”

There was a sharp knocking on the clinic door, making both of them jump. Gaius leaned back, trying to peer out the window. When they knocked again, he yelled, “We’re closed for today!”

Apparently they did not hear, for they knocked a third time. With an exasperated sigh, the old man got up and hobbled to the door. He pulled it open. “We’re—.” He broke off. “Hunith!”

“Gaius!” A voice Merlin recognized all too well.

“Mum!” he cried, flying out of his chair so fast that he knocked it over.

“Hello uncle!” Queen Hunith of the Druids said cheerily. She gave Gaius a peck on the cheek. “How’s my son?” Merlin appeared, and she beamed. “Merlin, love, how are you?” She opened her arms, and he ran to her.

“I’m brilliant, Mum,” he told her, hugging her tight. She was dressed like a mortal, in tan shorts and a patterned red shirt.

Gaius gaped at her. “Is it safe for you here?” he demanded.

“Oh yes, don’t worry,” Hunith informed him, releasing Merlin. “I’ve got a glamour on.” She looked at her son. “Merlin, I can’t believe you left it sitting outside!” she cried.

“Left what?” Merlin inquired. He peered out of the open door and broke into a grin. “My guitar!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I have been _waiting_ for this!”

“Hunith, as much as I love to see my favorite niece,” Gaius said with a tone of seriousness that killed the mood, “I can’t see why this is a happy occasion.”

“Does Dad have a plan?” Merlin asked, hopeful.

Hunith looked at him. “His plan is to take you home.”

Merlin lowered his eyes. He wanted to protest, but he knew what he had done. It would be fitting punishment, he supposed. Of course, the moment he crossed the border, he intended on turning around and coming right back to Camelot.

“And to threaten war.”

“What?” Merlin said. “Why?” No. He didn’t want war. That wasn’t supposed to happen!

Hunith’s eyes had lost all joy, and were replaced with a grim severity. “He intends to accuse Uther of kidnapping you. What he wants is for them both to reach the conclusion that you ran away, benignly, because you’re a teenager. And then Uther will demand that you leave his kingdom and Balinor will question whether you’re still _in_ the kingdom, because he’ll remember you talking about the Anglicans and how fascinating they were. That should put Uther’s mind to rest, and we will see from there.” She gazed at Merlin. “Meanwhile you will stay here, acting normal, until you get an unexpected call from home and have to return to care for your elder sister.”

Merlin blinked. “So I can’t stay?” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Hunith said sympathetically. “I still believe I did the right thing, sending you here, and I wish you could stay longer.”

“Can’t Dad be persuaded?” Merlin pleaded.

Hunith gave him a sad smile. “I’ve been trying. I’ll let you know.”

At that moment, the clinic door swung open, and in marched who else but the prince of Camelot. “ _Mer_ lin,” he stated, folding his arms, “do you or do you not have things you should be doing right now?”

Merlin gawked. Hunith gawked. Gaius shifted awkwardly.

“Is that the prince?” Hunith said with no small amount of fascination.

Arthur seemed to notice her for the first time. “Oh,” he said, blinking. Confusion crossed his face. “You seem familiar, madam, have we met?”

“No,” she assured him, and she extended her hand. “I’m Harriet, Merlin’s mother.” She looked at her son. “You didn’t mention you were friends with the _prince!_ ” Her tone held just enough reproach for Merlin to realize she was not happy with this development.

“We’re not,” Arthur informed her, cutting off whatever Merlin might have said. “Our relationship is strictly professional.”

Merlin closed his mouth and did not retort.

“Professional?” Hunith repeated. “Is he your servant?”

“Basically,” Merlin muttered, while Arthur answered, “No.”

Hunith chuckled. “Merlin, you’d make a terrible servant.”

“He does,” Arthur told her. Merlin shot him a glare. “Anyways, Merlin, I need you. The king of the Druids is on his way and I need you for chores.”

“Can’t one of your other lackeys do it?” Merlin complained. He gestured to the Druid queen. “I’m busy.”

Arthur pursed his lips. Merlin could see the conflict on his face. He didn’t want to take Merlin from his mother, he could see that, but he also really wanted Merlin to come and help him.

Hunith touched Merlin’s arm, making him look at her. “It’s all right, dear,” she told him, and she kissed his forehead. “I have an appointment anyway.” She smiled at Arthur. “It was very nice to meet you, Prince Arthur,” she said. She bowed and left the clinic, the door closing with a light slam behind her.

“Are you coming, Merlin?” Arthur called, already leaving.

Merlin looked to Gaius. The old man nodded. “Go on. I’ll keep searching.”

* * *

 

“Was that a guitar sitting on your kitchen table?” Arthur inquired as they trekked back to the castle.

“What?” Merlin said. He was lost, thinking about how his days in Camelot were numbered.

“A guitar,” Arthur repeated. “On the table.”

“Yeah, it’s mine.”

Arthur gave him a look of disbelief. “You play?” he laughed.

“Yes, I do, all right?” Merlin snapped.

“I was simply curious, Merlin, do calm down,” Arthur retorted, looking huffy. They turned into the courtyard with the guards nodding respectfully. No scans or searches when Merlin was with the prince. “Go and fetch my laundry,” he ordered, pointing. “Meet me in my chambers.”

“You need help getting dressed?” Merlin said mockingly.

Arthur scowled. “Just… go get it.” He turned and made his way towards his room.

Merlin hurried through the halls. Now that he was in the castle, his brain was spinning with potential plots to escape the inevitable. What would be a reasonable excuse for Emrys to be in Camelot? Nothing he could think of. And would Uther really buy the Anglican story? What if he didn’t? What if he _did?_ Then Merlin would—

Merlin stopped in his tracks, tilting his head as if listening. He could hear nothing out of the ordinary. But he could _feel_ it. That wonderful, magical feeling, more powerful than he had ever felt in Camelot. It wasn’t just standing magic. Someone was casting a spell.

Hesitantly, Merlin followed the feeling. It was like the air cleared, like he had had poor vision and just put on glasses. His heart fluttered in response to the feeling. The hairs on his arms stood up with the life of it.

Anyone doing magic in Camelot, Merlin thought as he walked, was not doing so with good intentions. He was sure of that. He also remembered what the dragon had said, that his magic was like a beacon to other sorcerers. How could he creep up on a magician if his very proximity gave him away?

Well, Merlin could probably take them, if it came down to it. He resolved to this solution and kept walking.

He was close enough now that he could hear their murmurs. His ears picked up the powerful words, recognizing terms he knew were sinister. He came to a stop outside the heavy kitchen door, cracked just enough. Slowly, slowly, Merlin pushed it open fully.

A cloaked figure stood at one of the sinks, their back to him. He could hear the words leaving their lips, low and purposeful, along with a bubbling noise. They did not seem to notice him.

Merlin crept up to them. They kept casting. He searched his mind for spells to use. What would be most effective here? And not let him get caught? He could feel their magic pulsing outwards and he had felt it before. He recognized it. Carefully he reached out with his hand, then abruptly grabbed their shoulder and spun them around.

She gasped. Her dark hood fell away and her golden eyes faded to blue. “You!” she hissed.

“Cara?” Merlin said incredulously. Then he noticed the sink. It was glowing and resonating with power. “What—?”

Cara smacked his hand away. “Damned boy!” she hissed, fury glowing in her eyes. “You should be dead!”

Merlin looked at her. “What were you doing?”

Cara ran to the door, but it closed shut in front of her. She turned to face Merlin again. “I was doing _justice,_ ” she snapped.

Blinking, Merlin looked back to the sink. Its glow had faded, but the magic he felt had not. He pointed. “What is that?” he demanded.

A smile pulled on the witch’s lips. “I know who you are,” she said quietly. “And you are a _traitor_ to your _kind,_ Emrys!” He flinched when she said his name, which only made her smile more. “I am doing what is right. I am going to _save_ the Druids from the wrath of the mortals.” As she spoke, she moved about the wall. “Balinor is too soft. His pity will be his undoing. I’m simply ensuring he doesn’t take the rest of his people down with him!” At this last word, she lunged for the window. Merlin threw his hand and pulled her back with a simple word. She laughed from where she lay on the floor.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Merlin demanded. “Are you Fey? What have you done? Answer me!”

“I’ll tell them!” she shrieked. “I know your face and your name and I’ll scream it to the world!”

“Are you Fey!?” repeated Merlin.

Cara cackled. Her eyes flashed with gold and a pot came flying at Merlin’s head, which he narrowly dodged. In his split second distraction she jumped to her feet and in a furl of robes leapt from the window.

Merlin ran to the open window and stared. Cara had vanished.

Damn, how did she _do_ that?

He had no time for grudging admiration. Hurriedly, he ran to the sink. Cara had put something in it. To do what? He dropped to his knees and pulled the cabinet open, revealing some piping and a few bottles of dish detergent.

He should tell Gaius. He should tell his father. This could start a war. Merlin stood up and looked around the kitchen. There! He rushed over to the wall and picked up the corded telephone that hung there. He messed up twice, but eventually he remembered the numbers Gaius had drilled into his head and soon the phone was ringing.

Gaius’s voice sounded at the other end. “Hello?”

“Gaius!” Merlin exclaimed, perhaps a little too loud. “Gaius something’s wrong. A woman, Cara, the one who poisoned me. She’s done something to the sink in the kitchen.”

“What?” Gaius said.

Okay, not loud enough. “There is a _witch_ in _Camelot_ and she’s _done something_ to the _sink,_ ” he said, loudly and clearly.

“Ouch, Merlin, I heard you the first time. What did she do?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Merlin said, exasperated. “But it was glowing, and now it’s not. And I really doubt it’s friendly.” He breathed in, trying not to panic. “What can I do, Gaius? My father is here and there is someone trying to—.”

“Merlin.”

Merlin broke off and stared. Prince Arthur sallied into the kitchen. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, a look of simpering disapproval on his face. “This isn’t the laundry,” he stated.

“No, I guess it isn’t,” Merlin said, holding the phone away from his ear.

Arthur nodded at it. “Who are you talking to?” he inquired with false pleasantry.

“Gaius,” Merlin replied easily.

“And what, pray tell, was so important that you had to diverge from the task I had set you on and tell Gaius about?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur was getting on his last nerve. “Well, _sire,_ if you really must know,” he said, adopting Arthur’s tone, “I was walking by, fully intent on retrieving your highly important laundry, when I happened to notice someone who was doing, brace yourself, _magic._ And—.”

Arthur straightened up. “What?” he snapped.

“Stop interrupting—.”

“No, Merlin, this is important,” whispered Arthur. “It could have been Emrys.”

Merlin had to remember to act disbelieving. “Pretty sure the prince is a _man,_ Arthur.”

The prince’s excitement faded. “It was a woman?” he asked, with less enthusiasm.

“Yes, and she dropped something in the sink,” Merlin said importantly.

Arthur scowled. “She must be working for the Druids,” he murmured. “We must tell my father.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth and almost spoke, but then snapped it shut. Wordlessly, he followed Arthur out of the kitchen with a quick glance back at the sink.

It all seemed normal.


	6. Afanc

_Every Druid has their own special magic, like a fingerprint. Their spells leave traces and demonstrate their handiwork. Any Druid can be forced to confess their true name, as per the Dragon Covenant. If a Druid speaks his name, and his eyes do not flash silver, he is lying._

* * *

 

Arthur walked briskly to his father’s study, Merlin trotting behind him. The guards were busy magic-proofing the throne room, where the meeting with Balinor would take place. All of them wore the bright red AM capes, and Merlin felt every single one of them as he and Arthur hurried past the room.

The door to the study was open, so Arthur walked right in. Merlin hung back, uncertain whether he was allowed inside without being summoned.

Uther was leaning over his desk with the head knight Leon, and they both looked up when Arthur stormed in. “Father,” Arthur said before he could be questioned, “this is urgent.” He turned around, looking for Merlin, and when he saw him at the doorway he beckoned him. When Merlin approached, he said, “Explain to the king what you saw, Merlin.” He gave Merlin a look said, _And with less sass, please._

Merlin pursed his lips. Oh god. “I, erm, saw a sorceress in the upstairs kitchen. She said a spell and dropped something in the sink, and it, um, glowed.” He bit on the inside of his cheek, angry with himself. _That_ didn’t make her sound like a Druid at _all,_ idiot.

“Father, I believe the Druids are…” Arthur trailed off, realizing he didn’t quite know what he believed the Druids were doing.

Uther nodded. “Balinor must have sent her ahead. Perhaps it’s some sort of… magic bomb,” he decided.

Merlin almost laughed. It certainly wasn’t that.

“Arthur, go find this… glowing thing,” Uther ordered. “Along with the Druid responsible.”

“I don’t think she’s a Druid,” Merlin said.

Suddenly all eyes were piercing him like blades. Merlin realized his mistake. He should not have spoken. Arthur pursed his lips. “And what,” he said, carefully, “makes you think that?”

Uther relaxed and awaited the reply.

Merlin blinked. Did… did Arthur just _protect_ him? “Um, well, her clothes, sire,” he said shakily. “I’ve seen Druids, and they don’t dress like that.”

The king rolled his eyes. “Obviously she has to _blend in—_ Arthur,” he said, exasperated, “take your pathetic servant and carry out your orders.”

“Yes sire,” Arthur said with a bow, and he walked promptly out of the room.

Once they were far enough away, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and glared. “What the _hell_ were you thinking, saying something like that?” he demanded.

“I just don’t think she’s a Druid!” Merlin stated.

“What, because she was in jeans?”

“No, I… a hunch, I suppose.”

Arthur stared at him with bewilderment. “You risked speaking out of turn in front of the _king_ of Camelot because you had a _hunch?_ ” He gawked. “Merlin, you know he could have had you gutted, right?”

Actually, Merlin did not, but it was nice to know that now. “I don’t want this non-Druid to start any unnecessary wars,” he stated plainly.

Arthur blinked. He bit at his lip thoughtfully. “Well,” he said eventually, “let’s go find the glowing thing.”

* * *

 

“The Druid King is due here in one hour,” Arthur stated, and he started perusing the armory. “We need to find that thing before he gets here.”

“He’s taking his time,” Merlin muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Arthur appeared from around the corner and placed a sword in Merlin’s hand. “Do you know how to use this?” he asked seriously.

Merlin gave him a _look_ such that Arthur rolled his eyes and left the weapon with him. Even though Merlin really did not know how to use anything besides his staff. Well, high time he learned, he supposed.

Arthur returned again with two torches. He was about to toss one to Merlin when he noticed something behind him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Merlin turned. Behind him was none other than the Lady Morgana.

“I’m helping,” Morgana stated.

 Arthur laughed. “No you’re not,” he replied.

Morgana glared. “Yes I am, Arthur.”

“How did you even hear about this?” he jeered.

The lady narrowed her eyes. “I have my friends in the castle, as I am sure you have yours.” She looked at Merlin and smiled. “Hello, Merlin, how are you?” she said pleasantly.

Merlin blinked. “Um, fine,” he said. Then he realized he had to be cool and smiled. “And you?” he asked.

“Splendid.” She looked at her brother. “Merlin, do you mind if I come along?” she inquired sweetly.

“No, not at all,” Merlin replied. Anything to spend more time with the lady.

Arthur looked at him as if he could kill him. Morgana’s smile became even more pleased. “Right then,” she said. “I’ll fetch my sword.”

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Arthur scowled at Merlin. “You’re useless,” he snapped.

Merlin jumped. He had been watching Morgana and waiting for her to come back. “What?”

Arthur paused. He seemed to be thinking. “Nothing,” he said as Morgana came back around the corner. He rotated his injured shoulder and shrugged it. “Right, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Merlin wondered.

“There’s a sewage system under Camelot,” Morgana told him as they walked. “Since we can’t really track the thing through the pipes we’ll have to start there.”

“That’s the only place it can end up,” Arthur added. “All the pipes lead back there eventually.”

“There’s an aqueduct under the castle,” continued Morgana. “All the city’s water comes from there.”

“So if this thing’s deadly, it could poison the entire city!” exclaimed Merlin.

“Yes so let’s get it before it does!”

 _And before my father arrives,_ Merlin thought with a flare of panic.

They jogged out of the castle, trotting down the steps with their weapons in hand. The knights had donned their AM capes and were patrolling the grounds. Merlin held his breath as they passed them.

“There’s a set of stairs out here somewhere,” Arthur told them. He followed the castle wall, feeling through the ivy that had grown up along it. “It leads right to the aqueduct.”

“It’s further along,” Morgana told him with hint of arrogance.

Arthur paused in his search. “No, it’s here.”

“All right.” Morgana shrugged. She exchanged a knowing glance with Merlin, who grinned.

Abruptly Arthur pulled away from the wall. “It’s further along,” he declared, and he marched off.

* * *

 

They jogged down the stairs, the flashlights waving in their hands in their rush. Arthur was in the lead, and Merlin kept up the rear. He had no idea what they might be facing. And that worried him.

It was further down than Merlin had expected, but suddenly the ground leveled. Arthur pointed his torch at the wall and found a switch. The space lit up dimly. Merlin looked up and could see naked wires and bulbs stretched across the stone ceiling. The light revealed some desks with scattered maintenance tools and papers, along with a large metal machine of sorts. There was a humming sound and the dripping of water coming from somewhere, but no water in sight.

“Where’s the water?” Merlin inquired.

“There’s a tunnel system,” Arthur told him, “from where the water used to be. The water is down that way.” He pointed to one of the dark tunnels with his torch. “That humming you’re hearing is the pump that brings the water to the surface.”

“Huh,” Merlin said, because it was actually very interesting and he wanted to know about it.

Arthur glanced back at him. “I’ll take this way,” he said, gesturing to where the water was. “You and Morgana take that tunnel. All the tunnels circle, so we’ll end up back here, all right?” He looked at them seriously. “If you find it, shout, all right?”

“Do you think we’ll need your help?” Morgana asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Not you, him,” Arthur replied. Merlin did not get a chance to look mad. Arthur had already nodded and vanished into the dark tunnel ahead.

Morgana turned to Merlin. “Shall we?” she said happily. She unsheathed her sword. Her other hand found his. Merlin readied his weapon as well. In his left hand. Which was nearly useless, considering he was right-handed. But Morgana was holding his right hand and he was not about to give that up.

They stepped into the tunnel together.

For a few steps there was darkness. Then there was a light bulb above their heads, and one a few yards down.

“So it was just a glowing thing?” Morgana inquired in a hushed tone as they crept along.

“Yeah, I don’t know what,” Merlin replied, matching her volume.

“So it could just be like, soap.”

Merlin shrugged. “I doubt it, but yeah.”

Morgana gasped quietly. “What if it’s like those things that you drop in water and they grow?”

“I do not know those things.”

“Well, whatever,” Morgana said. “It’s probably nothing.” Suddenly her hand was clutching Merlin’s arm. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. She held her sword defensively.

“Hear wh—?” But then, Merlin heard it—a screech, of sorts, echoing through the tunnel. “What is that.”

“I’ve never heard anything like that before,” Morgana mumbled. She straightened up. “Let’s go find it.”

They dropped their hands and sneaked along the tunnel wall, Merlin in front because he held the torch. He heard the thing, over to his left, but then again on his right or maybe from behind? “It’s moving,” he decided.

Morgana gasped. “I think I just saw it,” she said with a swallow.

Merlin whipped around. “Where?”

“I don’t know, it just… it was in the light back there and then it wasn’t.” She looked at Merlin. “It’s _huge._ ”

Merlin nodded, grabbed her hand, and turned. “Let’s go find Ar—.” He broke off with a yelp and backpedaled.

The thing was before him, its mouth open and screaming. It was hideous, made of lumps and muck and smelling like wet earth. It had no eyes. And, when it reared back on its legs, Merlin realized it was much taller than he was.

Morgana gave a screech and lunged forward. Her sword went easily into its belly. She let go and retreated.

The thing did not even notice. It landed heavily back on its legs and charged at them, undeterred by the blade in its gut.

Merlin gave Morgana a shove. “Go, go!” he shouted, and they sprinted back they way they had come, legs pushing hard against the damp ground in their effort to get away. But the things screams never lessened. It kept right with them.

“What is that?” Morgana screamed.

“Probably not friendly!” Merlin retorted.

As they bolted, Merlin fought to figure out what it was. It was made of mud, right? And magic. Had he ever learned of anything like that? 

They rounded a bend and kept running. Ahead of them, they could see the room they had entered from, more well-lit than the tunnels they had been in. Merlin and Morgana entered it, and for a moment they could see better. Merlin glanced back. The thing was even uglier in the light.

“Arthur!” Morgana called as they ran. “Arthur, run!”

Farther ahead, they saw the glint of Arthur’s flashlight. “What?” he said back.

“ _Run!_ ” they screamed together. Behind them, the creature cried again, urging their burning legs.

They flew past Arthur, but only briefly. They realized he was not running and screeched to a halt. Arthur was crouched defensively, his stance wide and his blade at the ready.

The creature galumphed toward him. They could smell it nearing. It appeared in flashes, in and out of the lights on the ceiling.

Suddenly Arthur charged with a war cry. He swung his sword upwards, into the beast’s neck.

Its head soared into the air and landed with a wet thud. Its body slowed with wet slaps and finally stopped.

“Oh,” Morgana said, panting. “Is that all you had to do?”

Arthur was breathless as well. “It was impressive,” he replied with a small smile, “and you know it.”

Merlin gawked at the thing’s body. “They head is growing back,” he stated.

“What?” Arthur said.

“It’s growing another head!” Merlin emphasized.

All three of them stared at it for a moment. Suddenly, as if on signal, they fled.

“How is it growing another head?” Arthur demanded.

“I don’t bloody _know,_ my lord, so save your breath!”

They sprinted into the main room again. But this time, Merlin stopped. He hurried over to the desks and began rifling about them.

“ _Mer_ lin what are you _doing!?_ ” Arthur growled, right in his ear. Strong arms gripped his shoulders and started to drag him away.

“No, stop!” Merlin protested. Because he had found what he was looking for. “Look, I found matches!”

Not really, no, he didn’t. Druids don’t need matches. What he actually found was a broken corner of the desk. Wood.

He ripped himself out of Arthur’s grip and ran to the open tunnel. The creature was rushing towards him, drawing closer… closer… “ _Forbaerne,_ ” he whispered into his hand, and he hurled the flaming wood at the monster.

It did not go dramatically into the thing’s mouth, like he had hoped. Instead it ricocheted off its nose and bounced on its back, whereupon the whole beast caught fire with an agonized scream. It lit up the whole tunnel, and did not stop running while it burned. Finally it gave up, and started to roll about on the ground. The fire dried it up. It crumbled as the flames receded, out of fuel, and became dust.

All that was left was a little glowing orb.

Merlin grinned at his handiwork. He turned around to see Arthur and Morgana gaping at him, thoroughly dumbstruck. “What?” Merlin said, albeit proud at their faces.

“Nothing, nothing, just, um…” Arthur frowned. “How did you know?”

“Maybe I’m just smart,” Merlin answered.

“Oh my God,” Morgana mumbled, exasperated. But she was smiling, too.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Right, well, if you’re so smart, tell me what I’m thinking.”

Merlin hesitated. “I… get extra dinner?”

“All right,” Arthur said with a nod. “Which means extra dishes!” He smiled. “Pick that thing up and let’s go.”

“And my sword, Merlin!” Morgana told him, following Arthur up the stairs.

Merlin scowled after them, but he obediently knelt down and scooped up Morgana’s sword and the little ball of light.

But the ball felt strange.

It felt _alive._


	7. Wings

_From_ Earth Angels: an in-depth analysis of Anglican culture

_The Anglicans are not beings of magic. They are winged mortals, and closer to humans than to Druids. Their society is dictated by religion, and much political power resides in the Anglican Church._

* * *

 

“Announcing the Druid King Balinor and Queen Hunith.” The squire bowed politely and moved aside. The doors to the throne room opened slowly, and the king and queen entered.

A row of knights stood on either side of the carpet, in full armor and AM capes. Balinor walked forward with his head high, despite the presence of so much anti-magic material. Hunith remained tall and smiled as she walked. They were trailed by a small entourage of mages, some hooded and some not, depending on their position.

Merlin avoided eye contact with his parents. He stood behind Prince Arthur, whose sword was at his hip and still muddy, and held the magic ball. Morgana had gone through an emergency cleaning session, likely at the hands of Gwen, and now looked regal but a bit flustered. She was poised atop her throne, beside Uther, where his queen would normally be.

Balinor and Hunith came to a stop before Uther. They did not bow.

“You sent for us, King Uther?” Balinor asked politely. As if they were equals.

Uther gave a sharp nod. “Yes, King Balinor, I did. And if you read my message, you know why.”

“Yes, it would seem you have found my son.” Balinor seemed to sag with relief. “I appreciate it.”

For a moment, Uther looked confused. “What do you mean?” he snapped.

“Emrys has been missing,” Hunith interjected, and on her face was all the pain of a mother missing her son. “He vanished over a month ago. We thought he had been kidnapped.”

“And why did you keep this secret?”

“We didn’t want to seem vulnerable, Uther,” Balinor said with as much exasperation as he could muster.

“How dare he,” Arthur muttered, and his hand tightened into a fist.

“How do I know he wasn’t sent here to spy, Balinor?” Uther accused. “An anonymous prince? Terribly convenient.”

“I have no reason to spy,” Balinor replied. His tone was confused. “We are at peace.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you kidnapped him, Uther. Which at this point is still a likely scenario.”

Both kings stared intensely at each other, until Hunith put herself between them.

“Emrys is naïve,” she pleaded. “He ran away because of some _stupid_ teenage notion that he needs to rebel.”

 _Thanks, Mom,_ Merlin thought sourly.

Uther pursed his lips. “It would do me infinite pleasure to return your son to you, my lady,” he said forcedly, “but I do not have him.”

“What?” Hunith exclaimed.

“Look around!” Uther snapped, gesturing. “Do you see your son here?” It was a dangerous question. The mortal king went silent and evaluated her reaction.

Hunith actually teared up and looked away. She covered her mouth with her hand in an effort to keep her sobs back as she gazed around the room. “He’s not here,” she said, mostly to Balinor.

“I told you he probably wasn’t,” Balinor murmured in reply, just loud enough to be heard by everyone.

Uther scowled. “What do you mean, he’s not here?” he demanded.

Balinor looked a little uncertain, but he retained his kingly expression. “Uther, I think Emrys may have passed through your kingdom. I believe he may be with the Anglicans, or at least trying to get there.”

“Without his staff?” Uther said, and he smiled.

“You have his staff?” Balinor questioned.

Merlin saw it. The moment when fake distress became real. It showed on his father’s face for barely an instant. Then it was gone. Anyone else would have brushed it off as imagination.

But when you only know a few faces for your entire life, you know everything about them.

Balinor blinked, and his expression was under control again. “Uther,” he said seriously, “have you contacted the Anglican king?”

“Why not show us his face?” Uther suggested lightly. “Someone is bound to have seen him.”

“You know I cannot,” Balinor told him in a low voice.

Uther stared at him. “Very well,” he said. “I will send a message to Avious. In the meantime, perhaps you can answer for this.” He beckoned Arthur with one finger.

Arthur turned around and took the ball from Merlin, then approached Uther and handed it to him. Uther picked it up delicately and examined it, even though he had already done so earlier. “One of our serving boys happened to see a woman drop this in one of our drains. My son Arthur went down to investigate and found a—what did you call it, Gaius?”

“An afanc,” Gaius said obediently.

“An afanc,” Uther repeated curiously. He glanced at the ball again. “Which is a very deadly bit of hocus pocus, according to Gaius.”

“An afanc?” Balinor said, confused. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You can’t just have an egg, you need magic—.” He broke off. “You don’t think—?”

“I have every reason to believe your sorcerers are behind this, Balinor!” spat Uther.

The room was tense with silence. No one did more than breathe.

Finally, Balinor reached out a hand. “Let me see it,” he stated. Uther snorted. “No, really,” Balinor went on. “Magic is different for everyone. It leaves marks like fingerprints, as I’m sure you know.” He was only a little demeaning, but Uther still bristled.

“There will be no magic performed in my court,” Uther told him firmly.

“It won’t take magic,” Balinor said. “You could do it, Uther, if you had the data to match it to.”

Uther pursed his lips and considered this. His leg bounced agitatedly. “Gaius, can you do it?” he said quickly.

“Yes sire.”

“Then do it.”

A servant ran up and took the ball from Uther to Gaius. Gaius squinted at it. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then decided against it. All eyes were on him.

“Sire,” he said finally, “this is the, erm, mark of Nimueh.”

There was a hush. Uther stared at him so long Merlin thought his eyes might pop out. “What?”

“Nimueh?” Balinor repeated. His eyes widened. “I assure you she is not a Druid! She—.”

“I know,” Uther interrupted. He sighed and waved his hand. “Give the Druid king and queen a suite for the night, and a room for their mages,” he said, and he sounded exhausted.

“But what about Emrys?” Hunith asked tentatively.

“I will call for Avious and the matter shall be dealt with upon his arrival. Now go.”

* * *

 

The next day the Anglicans arrived.

“Isn’t Anglo a few days away?” Merlin inquired as he and Gwen watched the procession of Anglicans file into the palace.

“Not by plane,” Gwen told him. “And I’m sure King Avious was eager to get that phone call.” She frowned in surprise as two winged men without shirts walked by, carrying a trunk between them.

“Why’s that?” Merlin wondered.

“Oh, he wants his daughter to marry Arthur _so_ badly,” she informed him. “He would love that alliance.” She pursed her lips. “Here is the bird king.” Then she blanched. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Merlin was too busy stifling his laughter. “All right,” he promised.

The Anglican king was large in every way. His shoulders, his arms, his feet, his head, his gut. He had a blond, graying beard that matched his nearly golden wings. He walked with a large smile on his face. Unlike Uther, who only occasionally wore his crown, or Balinor, who wore the traditional henna markings on his forehead, this man went all out displaying who he was. His clothes were light and airy, embroidered at the seams and bejeweled conservatively. He wore the winged circlet of the Anglicans and a cross around his neck.

But most impressive was how he walked. He did not fold up his wings like the others did. He walked with them fully spread, looming above and around him. And they were enormous—they had to be to lift someone of his size. His eyes were twinkling and gold, and he looked very happy to be there.

“He seems nice,” Merlin noted.

“Oh, and this must be the princess,” Gwen said, ignoring him. She craned her neck to see.

Bellemistis was the Anglican princess’s name. Her wings were pure white and tucked neatly against her back. Her hair was almost white, glowing in the sunlight. She had large, blue eyes and her frame was very delicate, much like a bird and nothing like her father. Her dress was dark blue and embroidered with white doves and feathers. In her hair was a more feminine Anglican circlet, with two blue feathers hanging from it.

She followed her father with her head up high, but her eyes were wandering. She looked at everything. The people, the castle, the street. She met Merlin’s eyes briefly, and continued gazing about. But suddenly her eyes flicked back to Merlin’s and stayed there. She watched him until she disappeared through the door.

Merlin kept his eyes on the door until Gwen nudged him playfully. “Watch yourself, Merlin. If my lady sees you making those eyes like that, she’ll get jealous.”

“She looked first,” Merlin argued.

Gwen shrugged. “She is very pretty,” she stated. “More than a match for Arthur.”

“Maybe Arthur will leave me alone for once,” Merlin grumbled.

“You won’t get that lucky,” Gwen told him with a teasing smile. “Come on. We’re needed in the castle.”

They had barely passed through the doorway when Arthur appeared. “ _Mer_ lin,” he snapped, “didn’t I—.” He broke off with a swallow. “Guinevere,” he said.

Gwen smiled prettily. “Hello Arthur.”

Arthur inhaled through his nose and avoided looking at her. “Merlin, I need you. Come on.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and followed him to the stairs. “Yes sire?” he asked with disinterest.

“You need to be beside me in the meeting,” Arthur told him. “But, um, that’s not important. Look, you play guitar, right?”

Merlin frowned. “Yeah, why?”

Arthur smiled shyly. “Well, I happen to know that Guinevere is fan of music,” he said, with a notion of pride.

“Is she?” Merlin asked sarcastically.

“Yes, and I was wondering if you might… instruct me on a few chords.”

Merlin blinked. “Now?”

“No not _now,_ you idiot, she can see us!” Arthur hissed. “And I have visiting regents to entertain. _Later._ ”

“…All right.”

“Excellent.” Arthur grinned and slapped Merlin on the back. “Now let’s go to the meeting. Bring a water pitcher.”

* * *

 

Merlin was waiting for Arthur in the conference room, where the meeting of kings about him would take place. He was holding his pitcher and thinking, _See Arthur?_ _I’m a bloody good servant, you clotpole._ He was glad he would be able to sit through this meeting, though. After all, it _was_ about him.

Uther entered first, wearing a pristine gray suit. He took his seat at the head of the table, facing the door. The first thing he did was raise his glass for Merlin to fill.

Next came Arthur. He assumed his place at his father’s right side and gave Merlin an appreciative eyebrow raise.

Then came Balinor. His expression was calm. He nodded to Merlin and took his assigned place. And, of course, he raised his glass for Merlin to fill.

Merlin came over and leaned down to pour the water. “ _We will fix this, don’t worry,_ ” he said, his voice barely audible.

Merlin pulled back. Balinor did not look at him. The exchange could easily have never happened.

Then entered the Anglican king. He was beaming. His daughter followed him, head high. She sat beside her father and was quiet. Uther looked at her and bit his tongue.

Next was Sir Leon. He sat on Uther’s other side. A mage trailed after him, hooded. Merlin could tell by his robes that he was high ranking, potentially Balinor’s highest mage, but Merlin did not know. After them entered an Anglican soldier. He held a ceremonial spear and wore on his head a winged helmet. All three of them took the remaining places at the table.

“Avious,” Uther said carefully. He folded his hands on the table. “Don’t you think that this is not the place for… your daughter?”

Avious looked around as if he had no idea his daughter was with him. “Oh! So it is. But dear Bella can’t just run about Camelot alone, can she?” he said loudly.

Uther closed his mouth and tried not to roll his eyes. “Prince Arthur,” he said, looking to his son, “would be happy to escort her around.”

Arthur gaped at his father. Uther gave a small jerk of his head. Arthur continued to stare in disbelief. “ _Go,_ ” the king mouthed.

Reluctantly Arthur stood up. “I would, princess,” he said tersely.

Princess Bellemistis glanced at her father. He nodded approvingly. She rose to her feet and bowed her head.

Arthur made eye contact with Merlin as he took her arm, and Merlin knew he had to go with them. With a sigh, he set the pitcher on the table and hurried out after them. The door shut with a definite slam.

“So what would you like to do?” Arthur asked, in a tone that made it clear he did not want to do _anything._

Bellemistis had been staring at Merlin. Then she blinked and looked at Arthur. “I would like to eat, my lord,” she told him briskly.

“Wonderful. I will see to it that we eat. Merlin,” Arthur said, beckoning, “can I speak to you for a moment?”

Merlin followed Arthur a few yards away. “Look,” the prince began, using his hands, “I need you to entertain the princess.”

“What?” Merlin exclaimed.

“Just for the afternoon.”

Merlin stared. “While you do what, sire?”

“ _That’s_ none of your business, Merlin,” Arthur snapped. He bit his lip. “But I can’t let Guinevere see me with another woman.”

“Arthur, she is _not_ your girlfriend yet,” said Merlin pointedly.

“Yet,” Arthur pointed out. When Merlin still looked unconvinced, Arthur pursed his lips and looked at him sadly. “Please?”

For a moment, Merlin could not believe the mortal prince. Then he rolled his eyes and sagged in defeat. “Fine,” he conceded.

“Excellent. Piddle pip.” And Arthur was gone.

Merlin sighed. He collected himself into a smile and turned to face the princess. “My lord has some rather important… things to train the knights. He will rejoin us later.”

Bellemistis frowned at Arthur’s retreating form. She looked Merlin up and down. “And you will be escorting me,” she stated.

“Yes my lady,” he said with a bow.

The princess ruffled her wings indignantly. “Very well then.”

Merlin nodded, feeling awkward. “I will take us to the kitchens, then,” he decided. He offered her his arm. She looked at it like it was diseased. Embarrassed, he pulled it back and cleared his throat. “This way.”

* * *

 

The cooks took one look at the princess and loaded Merlin with a two-tiered tray consisting of wine, several small sandwiches and meatballs, and dozens of cakes and pastries. He carried it unsteadily to the balcony and set it on the small white table there. He placed the goblet on the table and proceeded to fill it with wine, then pulled the chair back for the princess.

Bellemistis took her seat, smoothed out her white dress, and stared at him. “Sit,” she told him, pointing to the opposite chair.

Merlin blinked. Silently he took his seat and waited.

Bellemistis took the small blue plate from the tray and placed it in front of her. She gingerly picked up three of the sandwiches. “I don’t eat meat,” she told him as she removed the turkey from her bread. “And I don’t believe in wasting food.”

For a moment, Merlin was confused. Then it hit him what she was inferring. He picked up the second blue plate and put as many meatballs as he could on it.

“Some wine?” she offered, tipping the bottle towards him.

Merlin thought it was probably rude to decline, so he lifted up the second goblet, and she poured him his drink.

“What’s Arthur like?” she asked him.

Merlin paused. “You want to talk?” he asked, uncertain.

“About Arthur, yes.”

He thought about his answer. She took small bites of her sandwich and watched him intently. “He’s noble,” he replied. He speared a meatball and ate it whole.

“How so?”

“He doesn’t hesitate to help.”

“Is he smart?”

“No, he’s terrible at arithmetic.”

“Honest?”

Merlin shrugged. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“He lied to Uther to protect me.”

At this, Bellemistis smiled. “So he knows what you are, then?”

Merlin froze mid-chew. He swallowed painfully and met her eyes with practiced seriousness. “My lady, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he said calmly.

Her wings spread slightly, then pulled back. Her eyes glittered. “I see.” She finished off her last sandwich and plucked several cakes daintily from the tray. “And what of the Lady Morgana?”

Merlin still felt uncomfortable. He searched the princess’s eyes and found more than curiosity, but he was not sure what. “She’s smarter than he is,” he said eventually.

“Is she as beautiful as they say?”

“More.”

Bellemistis arched a thin, blonde eyebrow at this. She bit gently into the icing of a cake and licked it off her lips. “ _For her beauty could challenge the stars and moon, and that is why they took her._ ”

Merlin stared. “What?”

“A very famous Anglican poet,” Bellemistis told him. “One of my favorites. The line is from ‘She,’ which he supposedly wrote about a Druid priestess.”

“What’s his name?”

“Terren.”

“I think my mother has one of his books.” He picked up a cake and took a bite. It was wondrously sweet.

Bellemistis stared at him. She cocked her head and touched the feathers in her circlet. “Can anyone see us here?” she inquired.

Merlin was taken aback at the question. Suddenly he felt nervous. “Yes, from any of those windows,” he told her.

“Then let’s go for a walk.” Bellemistis stood up. “Where we will not be seen.”

For a moment Merlin stopped chewing. In fact, he stopped everything. Was… was the princess implying what he thought she was implying? Oh God. How was he supposed to handle this? He swallowed painfully and got to his feet. “Anything you say, princess.”

* * *

 

The walk was uncomfortably silent. Merlin took her to the garden maze, because there was a good deal of hedges and vines and secluded corners that he had often wondered about sneaking off to with a book. He allowed her to enter first and followed her obediently.

Bellemistis walked purposefully through the hedges. She nodded approvingly at their height and observed all the flowers as she passed. Abruptly she spotted a bench and stopped. She turned to him.

“Merlin,” she began, and Merlin did his best to look like a servant, “did you know that, while Anglicans are more related to mortals than Druids, some Anglicans possess magic?”

Merlin was not sure how to answer.

“Nothing special, really,” she said as she strolled around. “Small things. They can… make their eyes change color. Or help a flower to bloom. A rare few can even see magic.” Bellemistis looked pointedly at him and smiled. “Would you like to know what you look like?”

Merlin said nothing.

Bellemistis gestured to him and approached. “Your whole body is covered in tattoos. Symbols from the dragon language, I imagine. And they emit a strange golden light. There is magic leaking out of your skin.” Her smile became more amused. She sweetly grasped his wrist and traced one of the symbols on his forearm. “The most I have ever seen, actually.”

“Is that so,” he said tersely.

The princess raised her eyes. Blue met blue. Her teeth showed behind her pale lips. “ _Secrets shared before a kiss, forever are sealed behind the lips,_ ” she whispered.

Merlin blinked. “What?”

Abruptly, she said, “By the Dragon Covenant, I ask of you your name.”

“Emrys,” Merlin said with hesitation. His eyes glinted with silver. Bellemistis raised a hand to cover her mouth. Merlin’s heart stopped. “I—I mean… you…” His voice faltered.

Princess Bellemistis lightly grabbed his hand and curtsied deeply. “It is my most humble pleasure, Prince Emrys.”

“Shut up.”

“No,” she said. She shrugged. “There is nothing to stop me from telling the entire kingdom who you are. Unless,” her eyes became devious, “you kiss me.”

Merlin stared at her. “What?”

Bellemistis pursed her lips and smiled. “Let’s put it this way, _sire,_ ” she said, and Merlin blushed. “I now know a terrible secret. And I am not saying I will tell it, no. But with a kiss, I can never speak your secret, thanks to a simply little spell. Not even under torture.”

Merlin considered this. “So you’re blackmailing me,” he said carefully, “for a kiss?”

“My people are very conservative, Merlin,” Bellemistis said with a bored expression. “I’d ask for more but, perhaps you are saving that for the lady.” She winked promiscuously.

“I can’t believe this!” Merlin exclaimed. “You—.”

Abruptly the Anglican princess snapped out her wings. At their fullest, they would have extended far beyond the hedges, but it was enough to shut Merlin up. “Listen to me, _boy,_ ” she snapped. “I actually rather like you. But now _you_ know something about _me_ that I simply cannot have going around. I am a princess. Do you understand?”

Merlin gaped at her. And then he did understand. Her desires. What she wanted. It was scandalous for a princess. “I would keep this secret, my lady—.”

“Don’t call me that, we are equals.”

Merlin almost fought her, but he snapped his mouth shut when he realized she was right.

Bellemistis sighed and her wings withered inwards. “I am sorry,” she mumbled. “Making you reveal something like that to me. That was… improper. And now I have made a fool of myself.” Her pale cheeks became pink.

Merlin almost rolled his eyes, because now he felt guilty. “Why,” he said, frustrated, “why do you want to kiss _me,_ of all people?”

“Because you actually sat down and spoke with me and that is not something I often get,” she said bitingly.

And suddenly, Merlin understood. This was all an act. She was like him. She was the isolated, virginal princess of the Anglicans, restricted in who she saw and where she went. Her father treated her like valuable goods, to be paraded before the mortal prince in hopes of a bargain trade.

Quietly, he stepped towards her. He smiled a little. “Not that I, um, doubt you’ll keep it, or anything,” he said uncertainly, “but we might as well make it official.”

Bellemistis tried not to look as eager as she was.

“But come on,” Merlin teased, “I need a better secret than that.”

The princess had a moment of puzzlement, before a bright smile split her lips. “All right,” she agreed, and she squirmed with happiness. “My, um, my father would kill me if he knew, but I found a kitten when we toured the Americas, and I—well I smuggled it home.” She broke down in nervous giggles.

Merlin couldn’t help it. It was so girlish and innocent that he had to laugh. “A kitten?”

“Yes! Her name is Abigail, and I keep her in my room and let her outside at night and feed her bits of my supper.”

“That’s adorable.”

“It’s illegal!”

Merlin just shook his head. He cupped her cheek and brought her lips to his. They met and it was warm and sweet, tasting like icing. The princess leaned up into him. Her mouth opened and he allowed it, because he had read that was what you were supposed to do. Their tongues danced, just a little, before she broke away panting, her cheeks glowing with blush and her pupils blown huge.

“That was…” she breathed, but she did not finish.

“It was,” Merlin agreed, just as breathless. He was twenty years old, and just had his first kiss.

Bellemistis smiled. “Good practice for Morgana?”

Merlin shrugged and tried not to blush more. “I’ll let you know,” he assured her.

* * *

 

They talked for a long time, on the little white bench in the maze. She liked to touch him, he realized, liked just to be near him. Not because she liked _him_ specifically, but because she had been so deprived of human contact. Her hand rested on his, fingers grazed his shoulder—little things, harmless things. It was like they had been friends for ages. Conversation came so easily. Merlin was happy.

“If you’re the… the _you know what,_ ” Bellemistis said seriously, “why did you come to Camelot?”

Merlin shrugged. “A dragon sort of told me to,” he confessed. He smiled. “But I really like it here.”

She gave him a _look._ “You like it here? You like serving Prince Prettyboy?”

Merlin chuckled. “I suppose I do.”

The princess made a disappointed face. She picked up his hand, palm up, and traced her thumb in his palm. “ _Thou art winged,_ ” she declared, “ _and yet thou dost not fly._ ”

“More poetry?”

“Yes.” The princess glanced down at his palm again. “Very old Anglican poem, from one of the Epics. An old man said it to a youth, and do you know what he said back?” She looked up at him.

“What did he say?” Merlin asked, humoring her.

Bellemistis’s expression became the sour one he had initially known, but only for a moment. “ _Perhaps tis that I’m meant to fly, perhaps tis that I’ll fly too high. And should I fly above my call, I do not think I’d live the fall._ ”

“So the boy was scared of failure?” questioned Merlin.

“Yes. He was so afraid of failing that he never achieved his destiny. He became poor and sad and lonely and every young man he met, he screamed at them, ‘Fly! Better to fall than nothing at all!’”

Merlin contemplated this as he watched her fingers on his palm. “What if his destiny was to just sit there?”

“Why would someone be destined to sit there and yell at people.” It was not a question. To Bellemistis, it was obvious that was not what happened.

“Maybe he was always meant to never do anything, so others could do something.”

The princess paused, her fingers hovering above his hand. “That’s too sad,” she said quietly.

“What are you doing with my hand, anyways?” Merlin asked curiously.

Bellemistis glanced up and smiled. She traced her thumb again. “Thou art winged, Merlin,” she told him playfully.

It suddenly clicked. She was drawing a wing.

“Is that some sort of Anglican good-luck charm?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s right here.” She held up his palm. “It’s golden and it’s beautiful. You just can’t see it.”

* * *

 

It was getting late, but no one had come looking for them. They left the maze properly, with Merlin a step behind her and she with her regular stern expression. Yet they were friends now. Excellent ones.

“Merlin!” Arthur called. He had a torch in his hand and was just starting down the palace steps. “There you are. Princess, you must forgive my rudeness. I—.”

“I understand, Arthur,” Bellemistis said without looking at him. “Though you could have been politer.”

Arthur grimaced with embarrassment. He looked to Merlin for help, but Merlin just shrugged.

“Is the meeting over?” asked Bellemistis.

“No,” Arthur stated. He held up his mobile. “Leon’s been texting me. Apparently it’s been a four hour argument.”

Bellemistis gave a little grin. “Let’s go see it then.”

* * *

 

The guards outside the door stepped aside with a slight bow. Arthur pushed the door open, and the noise was suddenly deafening.

“You, _Balinor,_ and your heathen dragon-worshippers are a threat to this entire world!” King Avious was screaming.

“We are not dragon-worshippers, you stupid, dimwitted _bird,_ ” snapped Balinor. “I am a Dragonlord. By your reasoning I am a king of gods.” His eyes narrowed. “And are you simply going to ignore the _pagan?_ ”

“Pagan!” Uther exclaimed. “How dare you! We are not—.”

“The only reason he isn’t bashing your religion is because he wants his daughter to marry Arthur!” Balinor concluded.

Uther laughed. “As if I’d allow Arthur to wed a half-breed!”

“Half-breed!?” Avious’s wings spread threateningly. “You godless, filthy mongrel! Do you know what your culture is? _Sin!_ ”

“My culture is pure and _human._ My armies could destroy your little _nest_ of an island without even leaving the city! Do not test me, Avious!”

“You’re threatening _me?_ ” cried Avious. “Meanwhile the witch has his son running amok in our countries and we have no way of finding him! The damned boy is a ticking time bomb!” He pointed accusingly at Uther. “He could be in your court, at this very moment, and you would have no idea!”

Uther’s face twisted with rage. “Listen, you _mutt_ of a human—!”

“Father,” Arthur said loudly.

All three kings ceased fighting and looked at their children. Leon, the mage, and the soldier looked beyond relieved for the fighting to stop. Balinor met Merlin’s eyes with panic. Merlin swallowed.

“Did you… resolve anything?” Arthur tried warily.

Uther blew air out of his nose. Balinor pushed his long hair over his ear. Avious’s wings retracted slowly, his head bowed with embarrassment.

“Should we continue this tomorrow?” Balinor suggested softly.

“No,” Uther snapped. He glared at Balinor. “If I do not have _proof_ that your son is out of my kingdom within the next forty-eight hours, we are at war. Do you understand me, Druid?”

“But I don’t know where—.”

“ _Do you understand me?_ ”

Balinor pressed his lips together tightly. He chanced a glance at Merlin before he spoke. “I cannot prove anything. So we are at war.” He bowed his head stiffly and exited the room. His mage followed him presently.

Uther took a deep breath and turned to Avious. “As for you, Avious, this is not your battle. You are welcome to stay as guests and return when you are ready.” He sighed and left.

Avious pursed his lips. He looked at his daughter. “Go and pack, Bella, we are leaving in the morning.” And he practically ran from the room. His soldier chased after him.

Leon gave Arthur an apologetic grimace before he exited through the door.

Arthur, Merlin, and Bellemistis were left standing in the conference room, with the air heavy with silence.

Abruptly Arthur spun around and marched off. Merlin blinked and ran after him. “Where are you going?” he exclaimed.

Arthur stopped and said, “I’m not letting my father take us to war with the Druids. I’m going to find Emrys and send him home.”

“You’re going to _what?_ ”

Both of them turned to see Bellemistis with her wings out, gliding with every step so that she moved faster. She dropped to the ground in front of them. Abruptly she reached up and smacked Arthur on upside the head. “Of all the foolish and insolent things you could think of to say! You’re going to rush out there in search of someone _you don’t know—_ single-handedly, I might add—and bring this man back to your father within two days?”

“I won’t be alone,” Arthur said. “Merlin’s coming with me.”

Merlin blanched. “Sire, I _really_ don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“We’ll make the coward come into the light,” Arthur proclaimed.

“It will never work,” Bellemistis stated.

Arthur scowled. “You don’t even know what I’m going to do yet!”

“And neither do you.”

Arthur had no retort.

Bellemistis did not try to hide her satisfaction at his face. “What you should do is bait Emrys.”

Merlin’s eyes widened at her. Arthur frowned. “Bait him?”

“Yes. If you have something he wants, he’ll come after it.”

“But what would he—?”

“Figure it out!” she snapped. Arthur looked down at her. She waved him off. “Merlin, walk me to my chambers, will you?”

Merlin looked rather taken aback, but he complied all the same. Arthur gawked as they strolled away. Merlin looked back at him and shrugged, but they turned a corner and were gone.

“Are you mad?” Merlin hissed as they walked.

“No, I’m actually very clever.” Bellemistis smirked. “Would you like to hear how clever?” she teased.

Merlin gazed at her for a moment. “Oh, all right,” he conceded.


	8. Emrys

_Anonymity is a strong Druid tradition. The priestesses practice it alongside the royal family by hiding their faces behind crow feather masks and going by their magic names. All who use magic are born with a magic name. Knowing one’s name used to hold a strong power, and by hiding their true names Druids avoided that vulnerability. The royals publicly reveal their names as a way of putting the people before themselves. No being who uses magic can lie about their true name when asked._

* * *

 

“Father, I have a plan.”

Uther glanced to the door, where his son was standing with a book in his hands. “For what?”

“To draw Emrys into the open,” Arthur said. He was trying not to smile, because his plan was brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

The mortal king blinked. “How is that then, son?” he sighed, clearly tired.

“The Druid prince is probably missing his staff,” Arthur explained with as much calm as he could muster. “I’ll bet if we let him know we have it, he’ll come looking for it.”

Uther scowled. “I highly doubt the boy is that stupid.”

“Of course he isn’t, it’s clearly a trap! But he’ll risk it, I’m sure of it. Especially if his father is so close by.”

For a moment, Uther paused. “So your idea is to incite Emrys to attack us in order to avoid a war?”

“If we want to avoid war we will have to let Emrys walk in and walk out unharmed.” Arthur stood up a little straighter, aware that his proposal was risky.

“And how will we know it’s him?” snapped Uther.

At this, Arthur smiled a little. “I went to library,” he admitted sheepishly. He opened up his book. It was a copy of _Encyclopedia of Druid._ “According to this, Druid staffs are rare gifts. The priestesses issue them, and they’re supposedly carved by angels. Or something. Anyways, they’re signs of power. And they respond differently according to who is holding them. If it’s the owner, the jewel will shine silver, like their eyes. If it’s not the owner, but someone the staff trusts, it will—.”

“I see,” Uther interrupted, not interested in the rest as he peered down at the text. “If we offer Emrys his staff back, make sure the jewel is silver, and escort him to the border, we will avoid breaking Druid tradition and a war.”

“Yes!” Arthur said happily. He licked his lips as he waited for his father’s praise.

Uther spent a long time staring at the book in Arthur’s hands. Finally, he said, “It could work.”

Arthur was crestfallen, but he said nothing.

“Go to bed now, Arthur. You have class in the morning.”

* * *

 

“He just brushed me off!” Arthur exclaimed, pacing the room. “It’s a damn good plan and he didn’t even look at me! I am twenty-one years old and he told me to go to bed like a  _schoolboy!_ ”

“Arthur, do calm down,” Morgana said idly. She fixed the polish on her nail as she painted it. “You’re getting worked up over Uther. And you know Uther has always been an unresponsive, impossible to impress individual.”

“He seemed impressed enough at your swim meets,” Arthur grumbled.

Morgana looked at him. “Because that is the most I can do,” she snapped at him. “I’m too sick to do well in class and he won’t allow me to do any other sport. You, on the other hand, have to train the knights, _be_ a knight, do politics, and practically run a kingdom. You’ve impressed him so much nothing you do phases him anymore.”

Arthur shook his head. “He favors you. He always has.”

“He probably feels guilty about my mother.”

“And not mine?”

Morgana sighed. She patted the space on the bed beside her. Reluctantly Arthur sat down beside her. “Uther loves you, Arthur. If he didn’t, your life would be a lot worse. Now,” she adjusted herself eagerly, “tell me about the Anglican princess! Gwen said Avious wants her to marry you.”

“I’m sure he wants that, but it won’t happen.”

“Of course not. But I know you spent the day with her. So tell me about it!”

Arthur grimaced guiltily. “I sort of ditched her,” he admitted.

Morgana gaped. “Arthur! That’s so terrible!” She giggled.

“I felt bad about it, but I think she and Merlin had a good time.”

Abruptly Morgana’s giggles ceased. “She was with Merlin all day?” she questioned.

Arthur nodded. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Morgana, I can tell when you’re upset.” Arthur peered at her, grinning a little. “Do you have a little _crush_ on Merlin?”

Morgana gave him an exasperated look. “Now you really are being a schoolboy,” she told him.

“You do!” he laughed. He poked her teasingly. “Morgana has a crush on _Mer_ lin!”

Morgana chuckled and pushed him away. “Oh my God,” she said. “You are a legitimate five-year-old.”

Arthur snickered. “All right. I’ll leave it alone.”

“Yes, you will. Now go away. I have swim practice tomorrow morning.”

“Wasn’t Merlin a swimmer?”

“Yeah. But he said he won’t join.”

Arthur pushed himself off the bed. “Shame. Now you’ll never see him in a Speedo.”

Morgana bashed him with her pillow. “Get out, Arthur,” she laughed.

“All right, all right, good night!” He hustled out of the room.

“Good night!” Morgana called after him. She got up and closed her door before turning out the light.

* * *

 

Merlin went to class that day, feeling rather nervous. Gwen watched him carefully and consistently asked him if he was all right. Between chemistry and French he swallowed something Gaius had given him. Fifteen minutes into French he rushed out of the class a pale and sweaty mess, only to vomit not ten feet from the door.

The entire class bore witness. The new substitute told Gwaine to carry Merlin’s things and escort him to the campus nurse.

“What’s the matter with you, mate?” Gwaine said with genuine concern. “I mean, you’re so pale I can see right through you.”

Merlin could hardly walk straight, let alone respond.

Gwaine clapped him on the back, something that almost made Merlin sick again. “You’ll be all right. It’s probably just food poisoning.”

But the nurse could not deduce what was wrong with Merlin, and Gwaine had insisted on staying there. The nurse pursed her lips worriedly and offered him the bed to lie down, but he declined. “Gaius might be more help,” he managed.

She nodded and instructed Gwaine to walk him home, because in his state who knew what could happen.

Merlin threw up once in the bushes on the way home, shivered his way through the clinic and collapsed helplessly on his bed. Gaius told Gwaine he would be fine, that he would figure out the problem and fix him up. Merlin just curled up tighter and willed the churning in his stomach away.

Gaius placed a small bottle on Merlin’s bedside table. “Drink this,” he ordered.

Merlin looked at it pathetically. He lifted a trembling hand and managed to down its contents. “That’s disgusting,” he coughed.

“It will reverse the effects of that pill,” promised Gaius. “Did Arthur see?”

“No,” Merlin gasped. “But Gwaine will vouch.”

Gaius nodded. Already Merlin’s face was returning to its natural color.

Merlin gave a swallow and managed to sit up. “Did you tell my mother?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She’s not happy, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed. “I didn’t think she would be.” He looked up. “Did they go back?”

“Yes,” Gaius told him. “But your father will be here in a heartbeat if anything goes wrong.”

Again, the Druid prince sighed. He wished his parents would have more faith in him. “Did they call Emrys yet?” he queried.

The old physician stood up and picked up a newspaper sitting on an empty box. “It’s been on the telly and the radio. Uther made the public announcement this morning.”

Merlin took the paper and examined it. The headline read, _King Calls for Druid Prince._

“All right,” Merlin said, and he started to get up. “This is what we want. I’ll go right now.”

“Merlin!” Gaius exclaimed, pushing him back down. “You have no idea what is waiting for your at that castle.”

“Uther knows that setting a trap would result in war, he wouldn’t do that,” Merlin argued.

“You stupid boy, listen to me, he _wants_ a war!”

Merlin froze. He looked at Gaius and frowned. “Why would he want that?”

“He hates magic,” said Gaius. “He’s been yearning for a chance at war for ages. And then you came and gave it to him!”

“I did nothing wrong!”

“You _invaded!_ ” Gaius snapped.

Merlin pursed his lips and glared. “What do you think I should do, then? Not go? Make it look even more suspicious? Leave the most powerful weapon _ever_ in the hands of the mortals? No! I can’t do that, Gaius.” He looked away. “I can’t betray my people like that.”

Gaius stared at him for a long while. Finally, he heaved a sigh and said, “Then you need to know what you’re up against.”

* * *

 

Arthur was nervous. His father stood beside him at the top of the steps leading to the entrance hall of the castle. The knights were in two lines, wearing red anti-magic capes with guns and swords at their waists. Reporters from every station clustered at the entrance gate, bearing microphones and talking heatedly to their cameras about what was happening.

Uncertain, Arthur glanced up at his father. The king was stoic. He held Emrys’s staff in black-gloved hands, his fingers tracing the ornate designs idly. He watched the gate and said nothing.

The prince’s eyes flicked upwards, to one of the windows in the castle. Morgana was there. He could just make out her curly hair and green dress. Guinevere was probably with her. He pursed his lips and hoped Uther did not look their way.

What was Emrys doing? Did he care about his staff? Had he even heard their call for him? Maybe he really was with the Anglicans.

If he didn’t come, would they still go to war?

Arthur tensed. Something had flickered in the gate. A figure. He saw it. He was sure of it.

Suddenly it appeared again. Only for a moment, like a street lamp fighting to stay on. More people saw it. Gasps were heard all around.

 There was a moment of utter silence. All eyes were glued on that one bit of space, afraid to blink.

Then it was there, fully and utterly _there._ A hooded figure, standing there wholly, with its arms down at its sides and its head slightly bowed.

_Emrys,_ Arthur thought fearfully.

“Uther!” the figure called. “There is no need for all of this. Give me my staff and I will leave peacefully.”

Arthur lifted his eyes to his father. The mortal king did not look away from Emrys.

“Why should I believe that?” Uther called.

Arthur’s heart sank. _No, Father,_ he thought desperately. _What are you doing?_

“There’s no telling what you’ve seen,” the mortal king continued. “You could have been in my court, all this time! Spying!” He sneered. “No, I’ll not be returning this. Not until I see your face.”

Emrys shifted. Had he been expecting this kind of treatment? Arthur wondered, were he in Emrys’s place, would the Druid king act this way?

“You know I cannot, Uther,” Emrys called. “Come down from your pedestal and speak to me as equals.”

“We are not equal,” snapped Uther.

“Then send your son.”

Arthur stiffened. He looked at his father. Uther wore a sour expression. “Father, let’s just give it to him,” he tried.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Arthur, do you have _any_ idea what this staff _is?_ ”

Arthur almost rolled his eyes. “Yes, I do. But we must keep the peace.” He held out his hand. “I will bring it to him.”

Uther hesitated, gazing at his son’s hand. Abruptly he tore the glove off his left hand and gave it to him. “Do not touch the wood, Arthur,” he cautioned. “Who knows what sort of magic he’s placed on it.”

Arthur slid the glove on and Uther reluctantly placed the staff in his hand. It was lighter than Arthur had expected, and didn’t exude a magical presence as he’d thought it would. He took a deep breath and stepped carefully down the steps. All the knights had their eyes locked on him. Arthur kept his on Emrys.

He approached the Druid prince until he was but a meter away, and stopped. He held out the staff. “Here is your staff,” he announced. “Take it so we may be at peace.” He nodded inwardly, complimenting himself on his word choice.

Emrys smiled under his hood. Arthur desperately wanted to see him. They were of equal height, and he could only see the Druid’s lips and a bit of the nose. He wondered if he was horribly ugly. He certainly didn’t look very masculine.

“Thank you, Arthur,” the prince said, and Arthur straightened up. “I, um, apologize for my… misconduct.”

“Whatever.” Arthur glanced away. This man had infiltrated his kingdom and threatened an already shaky peace. He was not about to forgive that.

Emrys felt his hostility and awkwardly lowered his head. He reached out to take his staff. Arthur flinched. Emrys pulled back.

“No, take it,” Arthur ordered.

Slower, Emrys’s hand came forward. His fingers had nearly touched the wood when he unexpectedly yanked his hand away.

“That’s not my staff,” he stated.

Arthur blinked. “What.”

“That’s not my staff,” repeated Emrys, sounding incredulous.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Of course it is.”

“But it isn’t!” Emrys seemed shocked, as if he couldn’t believe it wasn’t his.

“Just take it,” Arthur snapped, and he pushed the staff at him.

Emrys recoiled. “Don’t do that, it could be cursed!” he exclaimed.

Arthur was lost. He looked back at his father, who appeared confused. “What is the matter?” Uther called.

“He says it’s not his,” Arthur replied.

Emrys pulled his sleeve down over his hand and gingerly took the staff from Arthur. “This isn’t… honestly… it’s not mine.”

“Are you implying that it’s our fault?” Arthur said defensively.

“No, no, it’s just that…” He trailed off, lifting his head.

Arthur frowned, but then he heard it. He swung his head around to see his knights, every single one of them, even his father, raise their hands to clutch their skulls before crumpling to the ground. “Father!” he exclaimed.

There was a clattering, and Arthur looked back to Emrys. The Druid had dropped his staff on the cement and was gripping his head, grunting with pain.

Panic rose in Arthur’s chest and he forgot all social barriers as the Druid prince fell. He leapt to his side and kept him upright. Emrys clutched at his shirt, gasping.

“Good evening.”

Arthur jumped and looked up. There was a woman standing behind him, and she held the true staff. The gem at the head had a soft, red glow about it. She was smiling. “And good evening to you, your highness,” she said with a small, mocking bow.

“Nimueh,” Emrys choked.

“Indeed.” The witch raised an eyebrow.

“Who are you?” Arthur demanded, hoping to intimidate her. “I order you off these grounds at once!”

She rolled her eyes. “Put the Druid down, Arthur, you’re much less threatening when you’re cradling him.”

Arthur let go of Emrys and pulled out his sword. Nimueh laughed. “You think that will scare me? After what I just did to your knights?”

“It’s anti-magic,” Arthur said confidently.

“My dear boy, do you have any idea how staffs work?” she said coyly. When Arthur’s lip stiffened and he did not reply, she shrugged. “To answer your earlier question, I am Nimueh, high priestess of the Old Religion, former Druid, and the reason you are even in this world at all.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. Was she… claiming to be his mother? _What?_

“Don’t be silly, boy, of course not,” she snapped, guessing his thoughts. “But your dear daddy _did_ make me a deal. And then crossed me like a mangy coyote! But,” she said with a soft smile, “everything will be all right now.”

She left in a breath, like a small breeze blew her away. Arthur blinked, wondering if his eyes had tricked him. But the space she had been occupying held only air now.

From the ground, Emrys gasped. Arthur remembered him and looked down, wondering what he should do. He glanced around at his knights and saw that none of them were stirring. Panic gripped him and he made to run to his fallen father.

“They’re not… dead,” Emrys said painfully. He gave up and laid down flat on his back. “She couldn’t kill this many men like that.”

“So where is she, then?” Arthur demanded. Suddenly he remembered Morgana, and lifted his gaze to her window.

She was not there.

“How should I know?” Emrys snapped. He managed to sit up and get to his feet, wobbling a little. “She could be anywhere on the continent.”

Arthur gaped. “She’s that powerful?”

“With my staff, yes.” Emrys shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath through is nose. “All right,” he said. “I’m going after her.”

Arthur’s sword was at his chest in a heartbeat. “I’m not letting you wander my kingdom _alone,_ Druid.”

Emrys seemed to be glaring at him. “Nimueh has my staff. I _must_ find her.”

“Then I am coming with you.”

Emrys laughed at him. “Shouldn’t you tell Daddy first?”

Arthur bristled at this. “I don’t need his permission.”

Emrys looked at him, sizing him up. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“How do I know _you_ won’t kill _me?_ ” Arthur retorted.

“We’ll have to use magic to follow her.”

“I know that, you prat.”

Emrys hesitated. He swallowed and gave a little nod. “All right, fine,” he conceded. Arthur thought he detected nervousness in his tone. He smiled inwardly at this. Emrys was afraid of him, at least a little.

* * *

 

Merlin was furious, confused, and terrified all at once. Damn Nimueh! He had been prepared for Uther and his men, but not this. How had she gotten his staff? When she was last at the castle? Had she switched them? Why come forth with it now? It didn’t matter, he supposed. She had ruined any hope for peace between their nations with her actions.  

But why hadn’t she told Arthur who he really was? She knew Merlin’s face, his false name, everything. She had figured it out. So why keep it secret?

The fact that she knew he was Emrys scared him the most. She could, at any moment, ruin everything he held most dear. He _loved_ being Merlin! And she could take it away so easily.

And, again, she had his staff, which was potentially the most powerful weapon in existence. She could easily start a war. But she was not on anyone’s side. He did not know if that was a good thing.

Arthur wanted to come with him and hunt Nimueh. It was _very_ dangerous. Arthur was not an idiot. He could potentially figure out who he was. And that was the last thing Merlin wanted to happen.

“All right, fine,” he said. There was no fighting him. Arthur was coming or else Merlin would get a sword run through his gut. He swished his cloak in an effort to seem confident. “Let’s get on with it, then,” he snapped.

They walked briskly out of the castle grounds and into the street where a dozen reporters were waiting. “Why are we going there?” Arthur wondered.

“I can’t teleport with all that AM surrounding me,” Merlin informed him.

“Prince Arthur! Prince Arthur! Is that the Druid prince?” one of the reporters called, brandishing a microphone.

“What happened in there?” asked another.

“Are the knights still alive?”

Though they pressed and pleaded for comments, they kept their distance. Merlin didn’t know if it was because of him or Arthur. Maybe both.

“If that sword is anti-magic, I can’t take it,” Merlin told Arthur.

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but closed it and gave a small nod. He undid his scabbard and dropped it on the sidewalk. “Happy?”

“Is your gun AM too?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

Merlin wanted to smile because their argument seemed so petty, but he had to be certain. Performing magic on AM materials was like being bitten by a snake. It would kill him slowly and weaken his magic unless it was treated immediately, much like Uther’s bullet had been doing. “You know anything AM on you will kill me, right?”

“I don’t use AM much,” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin blinked as he remembered their conversation outside of Morgana’s room. _I want it to be a fair fight,_ he’d said. “Of course,” Merlin replied. He grabbed Arthur’s hand. Arthur yelped and yanked it away. Merlin gave him the best scowl he could with half his face covered and grasped it again. He took a deep breath and put all his concentration on Nimueh, her magic, and the way she felt. “ _Áslúpan,_ ” he said.

Their surroundings suddenly became trees. The sidewalk beneath their feet was now old, dead leaves. Merlin dropped Arthur’s hand the instant they landed, and the mortal prince fell over, gasping.

Merlin looked around. “She went here?” he wondered.

“You don’t _know?_ ” Arthur gasped.

“I’m not foolproof, you prat,” Merlin snapped. It felt like their first meeting all over again. “Especially with all your anti-magic precautions. It’s very difficult. Not to mention she _has my staff!_ ”

“What the hell does that even mean!”

Merlin stared. “You really don’t know how staffs work?” he said incredulously. Wasn’t Arthur reading up on staffs just last night?

“I know they respond to their masters in a special way,” the prince grumbled, standing up. He brushed some leaves off his trousers. “But otherwise no, not really.”

Merlin pursed his lips. Should he tell him? “Staffs are, um, amplifiers, I suppose, for magic. They make it bigger, and louder, and stronger. But it’s based on a Druid’s own magic. They help their masters the most, but anyone can use them.”

Arthur interrupted, “And everyone’s been insulting me because I didn’t know _this?_ ”

“Well, there’s… other things,” Merlin said, his voice going quiet.

“Oh yeah, like what?”

Merlin sighed. “It can hide its owner from anything, even dragons. And sometimes work on its own.”

Arthur stared. “Work on its own?”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied. “I mean, it’s rare, but staffs have been known to… do their own thing, occasionally.”

“You mean… perform magic? Without a caster?”

“It’s rare.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide and his expression became exasperated. “So now I’m out here, in the middle of a bloody forest with a _Druid,_ chasing a witch with an all-powerful staff that can hide her from anything.”

“I didn’t say it could hide _her_ from anything,” Merlin said slyly. “It’s my staff, after all.” He closed his eyes and tilted his face skywards. He sent his magic out, feeling for any traces of Nimueh.

“Anything?” Arthur called with irritation.

“Nothing yet.”

* * *

 

Morgana bolted. The instant she felt that hand clutch her arm she threw an elbow and a punch and took off running. She tripped over something and crashed gracelessly to the ground. At that moment she realized something was wrong.

The ground was not the stone castle flooring she was used to.

In fact, she could feel leaves crunch underneath her.

Morgana’s mind whirred as she took this in. She was not in the castle. How? Did she fall out the window? Did she faint? Perhaps this was all a dream.

Wary, Morgana picked herself off the floor and turned around.

A woman was standing there, holding her nose with one hand and an ornately carved staff in the other. A bit of blood seeped through her fingers. She was doubled over with pain, her eyes glaring at Morgana. Unexpectedly her blue eyes flashed yellow. The bright red blood evaporated. There was a sick crunching sound, and the woman straightened up. She appeared far more impressive like this, with her grand staff and unbroken nose.

“Morgana,” she greeted, and she sounded unsure.

“The king will send an army after me,” Morgana snapped.

“I’m sure he will,” the woman replied. Then a smile split her red lips—a genuine, happy smile. “Tell me, love,” she began, almost shy, “do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do,” retorted Morgana. “ _Nimueh._ ”

“That is my Druid name, yes,” Nimueh responded. “But Cara is what my mother called me.” She smiled just a little. “Just as I called you Morgana.”

Morgana’s look of fear became vicious. “What are you talking about,” she demanded.

Nimueh’s eyes were pitying and apologetic. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you sooner,” she said, and tears slipped down her face. “I just… I wasn’t strong enough to ensure your safety. And _look_ what he did to you!”  She reached out and cupped Morgana’s face.

Morgana swatted her hand away. “Stop it!”

“I will _kill_ Uther for this!” Nimueh hissed. “I will see that he suffers more than any being before him!” Abruptly Morgana’s arms were bound to her sides. She was caught in her magic. Nimueh’s eyes were livid. Her lips were pulled back over her teeth in a snarl, and she looked ready to kill. Then her eyes softened, and she released her hold on Morgana. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and she dropped into a chair. “I’m to blame for all this.”

Morgana did not move. She had to escape. But she was in a tent, it seemed, and that meant wilderness. Not to mention the powerful witch holding her captive. How was she going to outsmart a sorceress?

Quietly, Morgana stepped toward Nimueh. Her hand gripped the table and she sat down hard in the other seat, not daring to take her eyes off of the witch. “What do you mean?” she managed. She hoped she sounded interested.

Nimueh’s eyes flicked up to hers. She pressed her lips together a moment as she considered her words. “Morgana, you are my daughter,” she said softly.

Morgana’s body stiffened, as if she physically rejected the idea. “No my mother was a concubine,” she replied placidly.

“Is that what he called me?” Nimueh laughed a little, but it died quickly on her lips. “Uther needed a bit of magic in order to produce an heir. But he didn’t want anyone to know that. I was an exiled Druid, and he offered me protection in exchange for my abilities.”

Morgana kept herself tense. She absorbed Nimueh’s words with anger and panic. Yet no retorts left her lips. The thought of survival made her mute.

Nimueh waited for Morgana to respond, and when she did not, she continued. “However I was proud, and Uther was… not unattractive. And, of course, there was the prophecy going around. I told him I would need some of his seed to cast the spell, and give his queen a son. And of course he obliged.” Nimueh looked her up and down, but despite the words the lady remained stoic. “In exchange for his… kindness, I granted his wife with a child.

“But that’s not how the world works. One does not just give out new lives like party favors.” Nimueh stood up and began to pace the tent. “No, magic gives and takes equally. So when the lovely Ivaine died in childbirth, Uther blamed me. He had been keeping me in the palace, and he knew about you, my love.” She met Morgana’s eyes. “In fact, I think you saved me.”

Morgana’s hands clenched into fists.

“He blamed me for Ivaine’s death. And he would have killed me if he hadn’t thought the pain of losing you was worse.” Her expression darkened. “So he took you from me,” she whispered, “and banished me from his land.”

Still, Morgana was silent.

Nimueh swept up to her, staff and all, and knelt at her feet. Morgana shrunk back into her chair. Nimueh’s eyes were full of glee and wonder. “Morgana, don’t you see? You aren’t like Uther! You have gifts he can barely imagine. Gifts he feels he has to suppress with little pills and _brainwashing!_ ” She made a sound of disgust. “But I’m here for you now,” she insisted, and she grabbed Morgana’s wrist. “I’m—.”

Her touch took Morgana by surprise. She gave a startled yelp.

And then Nimueh was ten feet away, on her back, staff and all.

Morgana sucked in air and gripped the handles of her chair so hard her knuckles went white. That was magic. _That was magic._

* * *

 

Merlin felt a sudden wave of magic. It rocked him, and made his breath catch in his throat. He had felt that before, he was sure of it. But it wasn’t quite the aura he had begun to know as Nimueh. It was a little bit off.

Merlin decided it was his staff interfering, and came back to himself. “Arthur, let’s go.” He started walking.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Arthur demanded.

A smile tugged at Merlin’s lips, and he couldn’t resist. “Magic!”

He could _hear_ Arthur rolling his eyes.

* * *

 

Nimueh easily got to her feet, and she was smiling so wide Morgana feared it would split her face. “The prophecy was right! Just _look_ how powerful you are!” she exclaimed, thrilled.

“No, that wasn’t me!” Morgana cried, but doubt was beginning to creep into her mind. She could feel it like water fills a well. Memories poured into her mind—times when she had seen her eyes turn gold in the mirror, buttons that had fixed themselves, Arthur getting small cuts whenever he irritated her…

The more she realized these things, the more she denied them. The memories were foggy, anyways. How was she to know what was real?

Nimueh was playing her. Trying to convince her she had magic. She _didn’t._ She was just _sick._

Morgana coldly folded her arms and fixed the witch with a piercing stare. “Your tricks will not work on me,” she declared.

“I don’t need to trick you, child,” Nimueh assured her. “But Uther, it seems, does.”

* * *

 

“You’re a lot like a dog, you know,” Arthur snapped as he jogged after Merlin.

Merlin ignored him, lifting his head to better trace the magic. “I don’t understand,” he murmured.

“How you’re like a dog—?”

“She’s extremely close,” Merlin stated, cutting him off. “Honestly, we should be able to see her.” He frowned. Whatever he was sensing, it didn’t feel like Nimueh. “Arthur, I—.”

“Did I give you permission to address me by my name, Druid?” Arthur said, and his tone was suddenly deadly.

Merlin’s anger flared, and he took a moment to reign it in again. Arthur would never speak to _Merlin_ that way. But to the mortal prince, Emrys didn’t deserve to be treated as an equal, not like Merlin. The Druid prince pursed his lips and kept his hurt and fury locked inside. “Arthur something is wrong,” Merlin declared, ignoring the prince’s demand. “I think there is someone else magical in the area.”

“Could it be you?” Arthur’s tone oozed sarcasm.

“I can feel their magic over hers,” Merlin said loudly to drown out Arthur’s snark.

Again, Arthur’s annoyance was palpable in the air. “Your magic seems to be a bit faulty, doesn’t it?”

Merlin inhaled through his nose sharply. “You are concerning yourself with the wrong problem,” he said tersely.

“So… we’re not extremely close to her,” Arthur guessed. “We’re extremely close to this _other_ magician that appeared out of nowhere.”

“But it still _feels_ like Nimueh!” Merlin exclaimed with frustration.

“Can’t you feel for you staff, or something?” Arthur asked.

“It’s not feeling threatened, so it’s not signaling me,” Merlin retorted.

They sat in silence for a moment, Arthur watching Merlin with his arms folded while Merlin crushed his eyes closed and fought to open his better eyes.

For a moment, all Merlin could see was the dark of his eyelids. Then, suddenly, his better eyes burst open, and magic filled his vision. Most of the colors faded, giving way to a sharp black and white. With his eyelids closed Merlin could see the whole of the forest, and what the naked eye could not.

For example, he could see that tent.

Merlin frowned when he noticed it. It was a white tent, rather small, and only a few hundred yards away. He couldn’t really feel any magic coming off it. Whatever the spell was enchanting it, it was not very strong.

He opened his physical eyes and beckoned Arthur. “This way,” he instructed, slipping down the dead leaves.

“So _now_ you know where you’re—.”

Merlin appeared in front of Arthur with his hand over the mortal prince’s mouth. “Shush,” he hissed. “They’ll hear you.”

The rage the flared in Arthur’s face when Merlin touched him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Arthur’s eyes seemed to _burn_ with hatred. Warily, Merlin pulled his hand away. He swallowed. “My apologies,” he whispered, “but there’s someone there.”

Arthur did not speak, which was almost worse. Instead he radiated a cold fury, and Merlin did not know what to do.

* * *

 

Nimueh froze. Morgana blinked. “Did you—,” the sorceress began in a whisper, but she stopped short. She pursed her lips and reached out with her hand. “Morgana, my child…” She took a deep breath. “Come with me.”

Morgana did not speak. She tensed up and observed Nimueh’s every movement, every word. Her tone was pleading. She desperately wanted Morgana to agree. But her eyes were not looking at her. Her gaze shifted all around the tent, slowly searching for disparities. So something was wrong, Morgana could infer that much. Nimueh had not even finished her argument but something was forcing her to cut it short.

The lady’s mind whirred at the possibilities. What could be wrong? Was she sensing something with her magic? Maybe she was communicating telepathically with other sorcerers in the area, and they were sending her a warning? Druids could do that, right? Or maybe the problem was much simpler. Maybe Nimueh had heard something just outside the tent.

Morgana’s lips parted in shock. She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but she could use it. She might be able to escape with this lapse in the sorceress’s guard.

“Come with you?” Morgana said, her voice barely above a murmur. Her voice grew louder. “Come _with_ you!? You kidnapped me, stole me from my home, and—!” Her throat constricted for a moment, and suddenly her lips made no sound.

“Insolent girl, be _quiet!_ ” Nimueh whispered. Her once welcoming hand now curled at the fingers, a grip that looked almost painful. Her blue eyes were alight with gold. “I never wanted to treat you this way but you leave me no choice. You must believe me, Morgana. I am your mother. And I must do what’s best for you.” Gently she dropped the silent Morgana into the chair. With a flick of her hand she conjured up some rope, and soon the lady was bound and gagged.

Nimueh met her eyes with panic. Morgana countered with daggers for eyes, wishing with all her might that whatever was out there killed the bloody witch. Nimueh almost said something, but changed her mind. Then with a sweep of her cloak she exited the tent.

* * *

 

Merlin instructed Arthur where to stand, so that they were on opposite sides of the tent’s entrance. The prince obliged, but only because he thought he was humoring him. “How am I supposed to attack her without weapons?” Arthur wondered loudly.

Merlin visibly cringed at his volume. “ _Shut up!_ ” he hissed. “She’ll _hear_ you!”

Arthur squinted at him. He opened his mouth, but decided against speaking and closed it again. He could not see the tent, or even feel it. In his mind he simply did not want to walk in that area. Merlin felt it too. A small voice in the back of his head saying _don’t go there._ That was how the enchantment worked, gently nudging people away from it so that it remained undisturbed.

Abruptly there was a rippling in the air. Arthur saw it and jumped back. Merlin lifted his hands, ready.

The witch appeared as if stepping through a doorway. First her foot, then the rest of her. She had Merlin’s staff in her hand. She paused, just for a moment, like a deer hearing the snap of a twig. He watched her eyes widen and her lips pull back in a snarl.

Merlin attacked first. His eyes lit up and the spell jumped from his fingers. Dark blue magic collided with Nimueh and knocked her sideways. She almost fell, but Merlin saw her eyes flash and she caught herself in midair.

As she was leaning backwards, she caught sight of Arthur, who had drawn his gun and was aiming at her. Quickly she twisted herself and lunged forward with the staff. Magic pushed Arthur backwards, and the gun fired wayward.

“ _Be ábregdan,_ ” Merlin said.

The problem with some spells being said aloud is that your opponent can know exactly how to counter. As Nimueh was being yanked towards him, she twisted again and snapped, “ _Cyrf!_ ”

His hold was cut, and she dropped to the leafy floor. Immediately Nimueh scrambled to her feet and shifted, so that she was standing protectively in front of the tent.

They stared each other down. Merlin did not know how she could see his eyes, but hers bored into them. How should he handle this? Nimueh was a threat to everything. His father would give her a trial, but could he afford that now? Merlin didn’t think so. Not with Arthur right there.

“Nimueh!” Merlin called, holding his stance. “I’m giving you the chance to surrender.” If she accepted, he would render her immobile. As a High Priestess, she was difficult to kill, and had abilities even he could only dream of. He couldn’t risk injuring her too greatly. And he was not entirely sure he could kill her.

“Traitor,” hissed Nimueh. “How dare you call yourself a Druid? I at least have the dignity to accept my status! But you… you sicken even me.”

“I am the prince of the Druids and I order you to surrender!” Merlin shouted. _Please surrender,_ he begged. _Please, please, please._

Nimueh straightened up and smiled, as if she could read his thoughts. “You’ll have to kill me first,” she said simply.

The sound of a gun firing cut through the air. It startled Merlin, but not so much as Nimueh did. She unexpectedly howled with pain and clutched her cheek, and there was a spattering noise. Merlin flinched when he saw blood on the leaves. He looked left and saw Arthur fire his gun again, this one barely catching Nimueh on the back of her head. She grabbed at her skull and staggered.

“What are you doing!?” Merlin exclaimed.

“I’m finishing the witch,” Arthur said bitingly. He walked up and placed the gun right against Nimueh’s temple. Before Merlin could say anything else, he pulled the trigger.

Nimueh’s whole body lurched with the force of the gun. Her blood and bits of her flesh smattered on the ground, and she dropped to the leaves with a thud.

Arthur reached down and grabbed the staff. “Here,” he said, standing up, “take your staff and let’s—.” He tried to toss it at Merlin but unexpectedly he was yanked back to the ground. “What?” he yelped.

“She’s a High Priestess!” Merlin shouted. He ran forward and grabbed Arthur. “She’s still alive! And now she’s hurt. Run. _Run!_ ”


	9. Home

_The High Priestesses of the Old Religion, when they achieve full priesthood, are gifted by the dragons the closest known thing to human immortality. They cannot be killed by anything not enchanted by dragons. When they are mortally wounded, their body has the ability to repair themselves. However, during their healing process, their magic go into a defensive state. They are at their most powerful while their body repairs, but the power does not last long, they are physically vulnerable, and are weak afterwards. Priestesses have been known to slit an artery or amputate a limb in times of desperation._

* * *

 

This was an all too familiar scene for Merlin, but it was not mortals chasing him this time. He and Arthur skittered across dead leaves, slipping as they avoiding tree trunks and roots. Nimueh was in hot pursuit. Merlin could feel her magic swelling behind him. They could not outrun her. She was gaining.

Merlin made a split-second decision and skidded to a halt on the leaves. “Keep running!” he called as he spun around. He planted his feet and raised his arms. Already he knew which spell to use. He licked his lips and waited.

The wind picked up with a whistle. There hadn’t been hardly a breeze before, but now the leaves were fluttering madly and jumping off the ground. The trees began to shake. Merlin adjusted his stance nervously, and then he saw her.

Nimueh approached him slowly. She walked across the leaves with measured steps, using Merlin’s staff to aid her. Wind swirled around her in a violent sphere, picked up leaves and her own blood to make it a blur of red. Through it he could barely see her, expect for her eyes. They glowed like small suns, golden and vibrant despite the mess encasing them. Merlin had never seen any Druid’s eyes glow like that before. But he had never himself seen a Priestess this wounded.

“ _Fréosan!_ ” he screamed, and he threw his right hand forward. The ice-blue beam shot from his fingers and was so quick and so powerful it would have frozen anyone else solid. But Nimueh raised the staff and deflected it.

Merlin skittered back a little. He had no real knowledge of what to do here. He felt very, very vulnerable.

Nimueh stopped a ways away from him. Her whirlwind of leaves continued to encase her. Merlin waited for her next move. For a long time, she did nothing.

“ _Forlor,_ ” she said calmly, and she tipped the staff forward.

The ground beneath Merlin’s feet exploded. He launched backwards into a tree and hit it hard. All the air rushed out of his lungs and he gasped painfully before dropping back to the ground.

“ _Bærnett,_ ” stated Nimueh, as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

Fire came rushing at Merlin, a huge ball of flames that seemed to have teeth. “ _Nestan!_ ” he panicked, pushing himself off the ground. His body twisted in midair like an arrow. He managed to cut through the flames with his spell and stumblingly land on his feet, but the fire torched the leaves and trees. Suddenly the forest was alive with an orange glow. Merlin was sweating with the new heat. Nimueh allowed her protective sphere of wind to die out and the light in her eyes grew more intense.

“I’m going to kill you, traitor,” she said simply. “I have seen your face, and I am going to show it to the world.” Merlin could feel her magic like a chorus. It seemed to be all around him, audible amongst the flames. She was pulling it in, he realized, and getting ready for a massive attack. The gem atop his staff took on a green tinge.

“ _Á-áscildan!_ ” Merlin yelled desperately. He raised his arms and threw up a shield just in time for Nimueh to say, “ _Ábradwian._ ”

Merlin could feel her magic and knew he stood no chance. He was going to die. Was Arthur safe? Oh god, _was Arthur safe?_

Merlin snapped his eyes open in a panic at that thought. His breath caught. Nimueh’s magic was coming at him like a single bolt of lightning. He did not have time to close his eyes because it was coming too fast. He could not blink. His blood screamed in his ears. This was the end. This was—

The attack missed.

Merlin did not realize it for several moments after it happened. The tree next to him shattered into a million pieces, which his shield protected him from, but that was all. He dropped his hands in confusion. “What?” he said.

“What!?” Nimueh cried. She gave his staff an angry shake. The light was no longer glowing. In fact, it looked darker than it should. Suddenly her eyes widened with fear. “No,” she whispered. She gripped it with both her hands and panic lit her face. “No no _no!_ ”

Merlin blinked. “But… what…” He did not understand. He should be dead. His staff should have—

It suddenly clicked in Merlin’s brain. _His_ staff.  

“No,” Nimueh whimpered, and Merlin could just barely hear her. “I was… so close…” Merlin took a step closer as the sorceress fell to her knees. He could see her skin shriveling, as if all the moisture were being sucked from it.

Merlin did not hesitate any longer. He bolted forward, skidding in the leaves as he came to his knees beside her. He grabbed the staff and yanked, but she still held firm. “You have to let go!” he ordered.

“I… can’t…” Nimueh wheezed. She looked at him with terrified eyes that were sinking deeper and deeper into her skull. Her cheeks sagged from her face and her lips frowned with age. “Help,” she pleaded.

Merlin pulled frantically at the staff. The gem continued to darken. He could feel a heavy presence emanating from it, and he felt weaker just being around it. Nimueh’s please were now breathy gasps leaving her dried lips. Her head was now bald and her arms were like twigs.

Panicking now, Merlin gave a final desperate tug and heard a snapping sound. He fell down and looked at Nimueh.

The sorceress was ancient looking. Her body had lost all shape. Merlin couldn’t seem to find her nose. And she was looking horrifically at her arms, which were now stumps at the wrist.

Merlin glanced at the staff and dropped it in fright. Nimueh’s shriveled hands still grasped it, the withered yellow bone sticking out jaggedly from the skin. There was no blood, though. It had all dried up.

Nimueh tried to say something, reaching out to Merlin from her kneeling position, but suddenly her thighs collapsed. She fell forward and dropped into dust with a shushing sound.

Merlin panted with horror. He could not believe what he had just seen. He did not _want_ to believe it. He forced himself to swallow and looked at his staff. Oh God. How could he touch it now?

He did not hear Arthur approach. Gently the mortal prince knelt down beside him. “What was that,” he asked quietly.

Merlin jumped. “Arthur,” he gasped. His heart was still pounding, but he forced himself to sit up. “Um,” he said, and he clenched his hands into fists to stop the shaking. “My staff… it turned on her. When she tried to kill me with…” He looked around and realized the flames were all gone. Only scorched leaves and trees remained. “With fire,” he finished.

“I saw,” Arthur said. His tone was very level.

Merlin nodded. His racing heart was starting to slow, and his breathing was getting more even. Good, he thought. Arthur saw what happened.

“Oddly convenient,” the mortal prince continued, “for the staff to kill her after she said she knew who you were.”

Merlin blinked and looked up at him. “What?” he said, bewildered.

Arthur paused. “Nothing,” he decided, his voice almost inaudible. He stood up and snapped, “Let’s go.”

Merlin clenched his fists again. He pressed them into the ground and tried to push himself up, but his legs would not cooperate. “I can’t… I can’t get up,” he mumbled.

Arthur leaned down and picked him up roughly, like a rag doll, and placed him upright on the ground. Merlin swayed a little but stayed up. Then Arthur picked up the staff and shoved it in Merlin’s hand. “There,” he said curtly. “Now walk.”

For a moment Merlin could not move. He leaned heavily on his staff and gathered himself before following Arthur away from the dust of Nimueh.

Neither of them noticed the dim violet glow of the gem atop the staff before it left Arthur’s fingers.

* * *

 

It soon became apparent that they were far from the city of Camelot, but the sun had set before Merlin offered to magic them back to the citadel. Arthur did not exactly agree, but replied with, “Whatever gets you gone quickest.”

They rematerialized close to the same spot they left from. This time Arthur did not stumble on the landing. He strode briskly from Merlin’s grasp and did not look back. In the darkness the streets outside the citadel had cleared. Merlin stood alone on the sidewalk, feeling strangle lonely.

“Prince Arthur!” he called abruptly.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur stopped and turned around. “What.”

Merlin swallowed. What did he want to say? _See you tomorrow_ was the phrase that rested on his tongue. “I… want to apologize again for all the trouble I have caused you,” he said hesitantly. He considered his next words. “I feel as though one day we could be great allies.”

Arthur was stone silent. In the darkness, Merlin could not read his face, but it was as though tension rose up between them. He could feel Arthur’s anger radiating from him. And Merlin waited. But the mortal prince was mute.

“I look forward to meeting you face to face,” Merlin tried.

Then Arthur spoke, so quiet that Merlin barely heard him. “What,” the mortal prince murmured. “ _What?_ ” he snapped. “You dare to think, that after what I just saw, we could be _allies?_ ”

Merlin’s throat tightened. He had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have spoken.

“You destroyed that woman,” Arthur said in a low voice. “Decimated her. Actually, I don’t think there is a word for what you did to her. And you didn’t do this when she was uncooperative. You did this when she said she knew you.”

Merlin felt as though his heart was shrinking. His chest became tight. It wasn’t true! It was the staff! Yet Arthur’s words cut through him like knives. Maybe it _was_ him.

“You’re not even denying it!” Arthur suddenly screamed. Merlin jumped. Arthur took a sharp breath through his teeth, and in the moonlight his eyes gleamed. “I do not ally myself with demons,” he hissed.

Merlin had no idea when the guards were called, but as he stood there, burning under Arthur’s gaze, knights marched out of the castle gates and lined up behind him.

“Escort him to the border,” Arthur ordered.

The knights saluted. Merlin felt them turn around him, their anti-magic armor taking over his senses. They did not herd him, however. They were afraid to touch him.

 _As they should be,_ he thought. The light on the staff flared at this, and everyone, even Arthur, recoiled. Merlin blinked. The light receded.

For a moment, there was only the sound of panicked breathing. Then, Arthur snapped, “Now!”

The knights straightened up. Merlin picked up his staff and walked with the knights wordlessly. He felt Arthur watching him until he was out of sight, and only then did Merlin glance back.

The border was not far from the city. How else would Merlin have gotten there if it wasn’t? They passed through a patch of uprooted trees that Merlin recalled causing, lit up now by several of the knights’ torches. It occurred to him that the patrol that night might include some of the men here, escorting him.

“Did I kill one of your fellows?” Merlin asked as they passed one of the fallen trees. And damn him if he didn’t sound a little bit smug.

A hand pushed him roughly from behind. Merlin stumbled forward. A small smile curled on his lips.

“Gwaine, don’t be an idiot,” someone snapped.

There was a grumbled “Yes sir,” from behind.

Abruptly Merlin snapped back to himself. Gwaine? He almost called out the name, but stopped himself. His friend Gwaine? No, perhaps his father or something. It couldn’t be… could it?

Turning to look would be stupid, but Merlin was full of stupid ideas this evening. He looked.

Gwaine had his eyes forward. Merlin knew he saw him look because of the way his cheek twitched. But behind him marched Leon. So he did not make eye contact with the Druid prince.

Merlin swallowed and faced forward again. These were his friends.

They walked an hour, in silence now. The guard at the front, not a man Merlin recognized, came to a halt and announced the border. In front of Merlin, the knights parted, so that the only opening faced the Druid kingdom.

Merlin wanted someone to say something. None of them did. He thought about speaking, but horrible things came to mind. Curses, taunts, and the like. Why? Why was he thinking these things? And the words wanted to leave his mouth, to come up like vomit and lash out at those around him. People he knew and cared about. What was the _matter_ with him?

Forcibly silent, Merlin took three steps and was over the border. Immediately the knights spread into a line at the border. All eyes were on him.

 _Apologize,_ Merlin encouraged himself. _Try and make peace with them at least._ But when he opened his mouth, an insult rose in his throat, and he clamped his lips shut.

He must have stood there too long, for Leon said, “You’re free to go now, Prince Emrys.” If his words had been any sharper Merlin may have actually bled.

“Yes, yes,” Merlin replied. “Forgive me. It’s just… I prefer that world.” Not an insult, not a taunt. The honest truth.

Leon’s expression changed slightly, maybe to something more sympathetic. Gwaine rolled his eyes.

Merlin pursed his lips. Time to go, he decided, before he did anymore damage.

His eyes flashed gold and he disappeared.

* * *

 

The mortal border had been lined with AM metal fifty years ago. The barrier went all the way around. Anyone travelling by magic would have to stop at the border, physically step over it, and then continue on. But that is not why Merlin went home.

He materialized outside of the _Palais Rouge,_ so named for its rusty red stone, and crossed through the grass. It was the middle of the night. The enchantments surrounding the palace let him pass, because he was of Dragonlord blood. The guards watched him as he walked, but when the magic let him through, they faced outwards again.

The Druid palace had no wall. It was protected solely by magic that the king himself renewed every year. Once, Merlin’s father had said that if employment got low enough, he would commission for a wall to be built. Merlin supposed it never had, but what did he know?

After crossing the enchantments Merlin magicked himself to his bedchamber. It was nothing special. Merlin had never really felt like it was _his,_ not like his room with Gaius was. Nothing in the room said anything about the person who inhabited it. It was kept clean by none of his own doing. The maids ensured its tidiness. Merlin walked by his immaculately made bed and was surprised to see his collection of spell books still resting in the bookshelf, along with a guitar pick.

Merlin thought of Arthur’s bedchamber, and the way it looked. The mortal prince had posters on his walls of bands and athletes that he admired. The color scheme was red and warm, unlike Merlin’s, which was blue and sad. Arthur kept a collection of history novels on his desk, which was the only part of the room kept clean. Merlin did not even _have_ a desk.

He wanted a room like that, that felt like his. This room… it was not his. It was the room of some person that didn’t like anything, that didn’t have a personality. It depressed him.

Merlin looked out onto the balcony. It was the only place he had liked. He used to sit there and play guitar late at night, hoping to annoy someone enough that they would shout at him. He never succeeded.

It had been on that balcony that the dragon came to him, asked him his name, and told him his Call. On that balcony, Merlin’s life had begun.

That was why he went to Camelot. That was why he met Arthur. The longer he stayed in the mortal realm, the more convinced he had been that he was supposed to be there.

“Emrys.”

Merlin lifted his head. He pulled off his hood. “Father,” he greeted plainly. King Balinor was in his nightclothes, standing in the doorway Merlin didn’t remember leaving open. “How did you know I was here?”

“I felt it,” Balinor replied. “Just as I felt it when you left.”

Suddenly Merlin was ashamed. “You knew and didn’t come for me?”

“I knew you had gone,” admitted the king. “And honestly I didn’t blame you. I still don’t. I just…” He sighed. “Couldn’t you have picked a more magic-friendly country? Like anywhere else in the world?”

Merlin had to smile. “The dragon told me Camelot.”

“Of course it did,” Balinor muttered. He strode into the room and sat down on the edge of Merlin’s old bed. “Pesky beasts.”

“Don’t let them hear you saying that,” Merlin said with a grin. He joined his father. “How is it here?”

“Dreadfully dull,” Balinor informed him. “For the past two months no bombs have gone off in the West Wing and our dinners haven’t been spiked with ghost peppers.” He smirked. “I knew that was you.”

Merlin bit back a smile. “Does the food taste good now?”

“No, it’s rather bland in comparison,” Balinor chuckled. “So, tell me, have you seen a film yet?”

“No!” Merlin complained. “Gaius won’t take me and he doesn’t have a television.”

“You’re kidding me!” Balinor exclaimed. “No, go get Prince Arthur to take you. He’ll do it, I’m sure.” When Merlin blushed, Balinor just grinned. “Don’t be ashamed, son! You have friends! People who _like_ you. Despite all that mortal’s acts he certainly would do anything for you.”

“How can you tell?” Merlin wondered, still embarrassed.

“Prince Arthur is a loyal soul. The moment he meets you he decides if he is willing to die for you or not.”

Merlin considered this. He had watched Arthur around his knights and his teammates. The prince cared that everyone did their best. He never was mean unless he knew someone was not trying. Then he was vicious.

“And what sort of soul are you?”

Merlin looked up at the question. He wanted to answer, but then he realized he didn’t have one. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I hope I’ll find out.”

They fell into comfortable silence, as they often did. After awhile Merlin said, “Dad, did you know I met the Anglican princess?”

“Oh?” Balinor looked at him curiously. “How was that?”

“She told me I was winged, but I wasn’t flying,” Merlin told him. “She said, I could be so much more, but I was holding myself back. And she told me this Anglican story about a man that never did what he was destined to do, and so he became a warning to others, miserable and unhappy.”

“I see.”

“And I said, maybe that _was_ his destiny, to make others keep going.”

Balinor nodded slowly. “What did the princess say to that?”

“That there was no way anyone could have a fate so cruel.”

For a moment, Balinor was silent, absorbing all that Merlin had said. “Emrys,” he eventually murmured, “what exactly did that dragon say to you?”

Merlin waited a moment. He both wanted his father’s help and adamantly didn’t at the same time. “It said that I was bound to Albion, destined to ‘help the once and future king unite the Druids and the mortals’.” Merlin shrugged. “So I’m destined to help.”

“Dragons are obnoxious creatures that speak in riddles and enjoy watching you spin until you figure it out,” snapped Balinor. “Don’t dwell on one word.”

Merlin hesitated a moment longer. “It also said I would live to see the end of everything. ‘While everything ends, you alone will be standing’.” Merlin looked at his father. “What does that mean?”

Balinor pursed his lips. “Perhaps the end of the world is closer than we thought, then,” he said lightly.

“Or?” Merlin prompted. He did not want to say what conclusion he had come to until his father said it first.

“Or you will live a very long life.” Balinor’s tone implied that the conversation ended there.

“Please, Father, I don’t want to say it—.”

“Then don’t.”

Merlin closed his mouth.

For a long while, they were silent. Finally, Merlin could not stand it anymore. His guilt came rising up in his chest and he had to speak, had to tell someone what he had done. “I killed Nimueh,” he said fearfully.

His father gave him such a sharp look that Merlin could feel it cut into him. He could not meet the king’s eyes, and he felt sick. How could he have done such a thing? Merlin, who felt sick at the sight of blood, had obliterated the witch. His stomach rolled as he remembered his words to the knights hardly three hours ago. _Did I kill one of your fellows?_

Merlin’s fists clenched and he felt as though he would vomit. He felt like digging his fingers into himself. Maybe if he dug deep enough, he could dig out the bad parts and be good again. Be himself.

Merlin jumped when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He snapped his head up to look at his father and instantly looked away. Balinor’s eyes could see right through him. Merlin could feel it. But it was not what he was expecting to feel.

“You’re not in my head,” he commented warily.

“No, Emrys,” Balinor said gently. “I won’t look for anything you don’t want me to see.”

Merlin took several deep breaths. His eyes were stinging. “I… she had my staff and I followed her, Father. I had to bring Arthur with me. A-and when she attacked me I told him to run.” Another deep breath. His voice grew shakier. “She would have killed me. I knew it. And then my staff turned on her. It destroyed her.” He nodded, reassuring himself that that was what happened.

Balinor was quiet for a moment. “Did Arthur see?”

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded. “He thinks I killed her because she knew who I was.”

“She knew?”

“Yes.”

The king stood up and ran his hands through his hair. “How did she know?”

“Kilgharrah said it was because—.”

“Who?”

“The dragon, Father. The mortals have the Great Dragon Kilgharrah captive under the city.”

Balinor’s eyes flickered. Merlin had never seen that look before, but his father looked—conflicted? “And it told you what?”

“It said my powers are too strong. That I’m like a signal flare.”

The Druid king nodded, as if it made sense. “It may be right, Emrys.” He grabbed his son’s shoulders and forced him to look at him. “But do not trust it. Give it nothing, Merlin, that you think it can use against you. In fact, don’t give it _anything._ ”

Merlin nodded. He was sure his father was right. And Merlin did not have it in him to fight about anything.

“Your Dragonlord training has been put off, and I’m sorry about that,” said Balinor. “There just isn’t time to train you now that you are pretending to be mortal. It would look suspicious.”

“I know,” Merlin said. He was starting to calm down, his focus being drawn to something other than his guilt.

Balinor looked at him sadly. “I wish I could help you more than this.”

“What about my magic?” Merlin wondered. “If it’s so strong, won’t I be discovered?”

The king paused. “I’ll do some research,” he told him. “I’ll find you something. In the meantime keep your head down. Don’t do any magic. Don’t sleep more than you need to. Your magic is out of control when you sleep.”

Merlin nodded and nodded. His father pulled him to his feet and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh my boy,” he whispered. “I feel silly, telling you all this.” He sighed. “But I hope it will help.” Balinor pulled away. “You should be getting back to Gaius.”

“Can I see Mum?” asked Merlin quietly.

* * *

 

Hunith was happy to be woken in the middle of the night by her son. She smiled sleepily when she saw him and asked him how things were going in a voice that could barely form words. Merlin told her everything was fine, that he loved her and missed her and she hugged him tight, like she always did when he was small.

“How did it all go?” she inquired gently.

Merlin swallowed. “Dad will tell you,” he decided.

They talked for a few moments more before Hunith smiled one last time and told him he should get going. Merlin was relieved she said so, because his guilt was rising up again now that he had spoken with his mother. Balinor nodded in agreement with his wife and offered to walk Merlin to the edge of the enchantments.

“Now,” Balinor said as they walked, “this is how it should have been.”

“What?” asked Merlin, pulling his hood up.

“Your leaving,” replied the king, and they both halted at the edge where they knew the spell ended. “I should have walked you to the edge, right here, made sure you had your staff and toothbrush and the like. And told you good luck, or something.” Balinor smiled sadly. “I will miss you, son. Come home when you can.”

“I will,” Merlin said, and he meant it. At least, he did right then.

“I’ll get back to you about shielding yourself,” said Balinor.

“Thank you.”

“Be safe.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Give Uther a hard time for me.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And always—.”

“ _Dad._ ”

Balinor smiled wanly, and his eyes began glittering. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if holding off tears. He leaned forward and kissed his son on the forehead. “Take care.”

Merlin nodded. He embraced his father one last time before stepping over the enchantment. With a single glance back, he disappeared.

It was much easier crossing the border this time. He had a good memory of where he was going and could trace his own magic back to Gaius’s clinic. When he appeared at the border, he crossed quickly and vanished again before his feet had even touched the ground.

Merlin appeared in Gaius’s kitchen and frowned. He had meant to end up in his room. But then his stomach growled angrily and he supposed it made sense.

“Merlin?”

Merlin turned. “Gaius, you’re still up!” he exclaimed.

“Of course I am you stupid boy, what took you so long!?” the old physician demanded.

“I went home,” Merlin told him simply.

Gaius shook his head. “You need to tell me these things! What happened? Was Morgana with you?”

“Morgana?” Merlin frowned. “No, she wasn’t with us at all, why?”

“Take that off and come with me,” snapped Gaius. “The Lady is missing. We are needed at the palace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends part one. Part two, Haelway, will be posted soon. If you want to read ahead, the story has several more chapters on my fanfic account. I'm just lazy updating here. I'm getting it caught up though. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your support! Nothing means so much to me as hearing what you think, whether in kudos or comments. So thank you all!


	10. The Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Haelway

_Names hold great power for the Druids. At every Druid’s birth, the Priestesses perform a christening ceremony that reveals the infant’s true name. A dragon is always present, as their fire is vital to the ceremony. The mother and father are hooded during this, and the Priestesses wear special dove masks. Any Druid unaware of their true name cannot unlock their true potential._

* * *

 

Morgana was terrified.

She had been wandering around the forest for hours, and now it was dark. Her mobile had no reception. She walked with it in her hand, checking it constantly to see if it had picked up signal. That was all she needed, really. The little bars on her phone to light up. Then she could call for someone, tell them where she was, be saved.

But in all her walking, doubt crept into her mind. What would she tell her rescuer? That a witch had dropped her in the middle of this forest and vanished? Because apparently the Lady Morgana was the daughter of the Priestess Nimueh and had magic of her own?

She would be helped, certainly. No one would want to be on the bad side of King Uther. But how would Uther interpret her story?

Morgana had stayed in the tent until the noise of the fight seemed to leave, then slowly crept out. When the smell of smoke reached her, she fled. She ran until the air was clear and then she stopped. Looked around. Where was she?

Now what was she to do?

She did not want to be rescued. Not here. She did not want that sort of attention drawn to her. W hat if she was on the other side of the country? There would be no believable way to explain that. And Gwen had seen her disappear. She hoped her friend had not panicked and told everyone about her disappearance. That would make coming up with a cover story a much trickier business.

But she had to be found soon. She hoped she was only a few miles from the citadel.

Perhaps she should climb a tree, she thought, slowing down to stare up at one. The trees had been thin before but these ones were thick and looked as if they would support her.

Did that mean she had been heading the wrong way? Didn’t trees get bigger deeper into the woods?

She did not have the energy to be frustrated at herself. She was tired. She was hungry.

Climb the tree, she told herself.

Morgana lifted her arms and gripped the closest branch. It was barely out of her reach and as she held it her toes grazed the fallen leaves. She wished she was already at the top. It would be so much easier if she just—

Morgana gasped and nearly lost her balance. Suddenly she was not hanging an inch above the ground but fifteen feet up, sitting atop a branch that was bending under her weight. She stiffened with fear and held tight to the trunk behind her. How did she get here? What happened?

Nimueh was back. The witch had found her and put her up here so she could not run. Oh God. What if she fell? Would the witch save her?

With her heart thudding in her chest Morgana cautiously peered down below. Confused, she looked down the other side. There was no one below her. “Hello?” she called, and she waited. Nothing. Not even the wind answered her.

“I don’t have magic,” she said aloud. “I am a mortal.”

Even to her own ears the words sounded feeble. Around her the darkness felt crushing. She cursed herself. Why did she want to climb this damn tree? She couldn’t see anything anyways, it was far too dark. And now she was stuck up here. She wanted to scream.

“I want to go home,” she whimpered. No one could hear her, of course, and after she spoke she hated herself. Saying the words aloud made her feel that much more hopeless.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and tugged her skirt down over her ankles. Never had she felt so desperate and alone.

Something cooed in the branches next to her. Morgana jumped violently.

Suddenly her world was upside down. She was looking up at stars and there was wind rushing through her and her stomach was in her throat. She had fallen from the branch. She was going to die.

Then there was cold grass against her face and familiar noises in her ears. Morgana gripped the blades nearest her hands and gasped for breath.

Wait.

She was on the ground.

Was she broken? Curiously, she shifted her body. She didn’t _feel_ broken.

Carefully, Morgana sat up. She curled her fingers in the grass every time she moved, to keep herself grounded. Hesitantly, she pulled her feet underneath her, and stood up.

There was the castle. Right there! She could even see her window. Where was she? The garden?

“My lady?”

Morgana looked up. From the open door of the castle a group of knights was hurrying towards her. “My lady, is that you?” one of them called. The light of a torch shone in her face, but it did not phase her. Her mind was reeling. How did she get here. What happened. Oh God. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up.

The knights drew nearer and bowed quickly. “My lady, where the hell have you been?” snapped the knight. Morgana blinked and looked at him sharply. It was Elyan, Gwen’s brother.

Morgana stared at him. “What?” she said feebly. She felt dazed. Her vision was starting to swim, and she almost swayed.

“King Uther has been going mad looking for you, Morgana,” Elyan went on. “Where were you?”

Morgana was unresponsive a moment longer. Then it was like something snapped in her mind, and she straightened up. “I was out in the garden,” she informed them simply. “Honestly, did none of you think to check?” Then she turned sharply and stalked towards the castle.

 _Not magic,_ she told herself, and that insistence kept her strong as she walked. _It was not magic._

* * *

 

No amount of prying could persuade the Lady Morgana to reveal anymore than “I was out in the garden.” But the way she shut herself in her room and did not let even Guinevere in was enough to tell the palace something was wrong.

King Uther pounded and pounded on her door, demanding that she open it. She did not even answer.

Merlin, on the other hand, had a whole new set of problems to deal with, and all of them were Arthur. “I thought you were deathly ill!” the mortal prince exclaimed.

“I wasn’t _deathly ill_ you prat, I was sick!” Merlin was bitter. He was angry Arthur for his treatment of Emrys and he hated himself deserving it.

Arthur made a face. “Sure. And Morgana was sick too, was she?”

“What?”

Arthur pursed his lips in a wicked smirk. “Nothing.”

Merlin scowled at him. “Of course."

Despite Arthur’s teasing about something with Morgana, Merlin felt as though everything was relatively back to normal. Well, as normal as it could get for a Druid prince masquerading as a mortal servant.

How very wrong he was.

* * *

 

“The Druid prince got into Camelot far too easily,” Uther hissed furiously. “He walked _right_ into the citadel. Our defenses are inadequate.”

“Father, we invited him,” Arthur reminded him tersely. At Uther’s look, however, he pursed his lips. “But yes, he got into the country too easily.”

Uther nodded. “Sir Leon,” he said, and the knight straightened up, “I want you to approach the prime minister and inform him of our situation. Have the AM defenses around his home and office increased. Tell Sir Percival to find out if the new AM border traps are ready. Skip testing. Put them out there.”

“Yes, sire,” Leon said with a small bow.

“I want you to increase the palace security as well,” the king continued. “Search everyone. Extra-strength scan wands. Anyone that gets so much as a blip I want them interrogated.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good.”

“Father,” Arthur began, “I do not want the Druids here anymore than you do, but—.”

“But what, Arthur?”

Arthur hesitated. His father’s tone was dangerous. “But,” Arthur went on carefully, “I don’t think this is fair to our citizens. We’re not at war. Extra security like this could make them uneasy.”

Uther slammed his hands down on the table, and Arthur and Leon flinched. “We _are_ at war,” he said, his tone frighteningly soft. “The Druids have overstepped their bounds. They will do it again. It’s only a matter of time. This was just a test. Next they will bring an army of mages.” His eyes gleamed. “Have you ever seen the Druid army, Arthur?”

“No my lord,” Arthur mumbled.

“No!” Uther repeated. “You haven’t. They’re an impossible enemy. They hide behind enchanted masks that reflect your worst fears. They make copies of themselves so real you could kill a dozen before realizing they have all been the same. They can disappear entirely and run an unseen blade between your shoulders, and you’d be dead before you ever saw your attacker. The odds are against us. I will _not_ be caught unprepared.”

Arthur pressed his lips together and focused his vision on a speck on the wall.

Uther waited, but his son did not speak. He turned and face Leon. “You have your orders,” he stated.       

Leon bowed and exited.

* * *

 

Morgana felt insane. She could not bring herself to eat the meals left in front of her door and she could not stand the hunger. She was jumpy and anxious—she thought things lurked in the corner of her eye and at the same time knew they weren’t there. She tried sleeping, but it was fitful and nightmarish. She went to take her pills but remembered Nimueh calling her brainwashed. She hurled the bottles on the floor in fury.

It did not help that suddenly _things_ were happening.

It was little at first. The book she had wanted to grab from the other side of the room was at her feet before she stood up. The chicken that had gone cold was hot again when she wanted it. The more she noticed these little impossibilities, the more they seemed to happen, and the more it frightened her.

She researched other explanations and when she found nothing she threw the computer. Several times she wanted to call Guinevere but stopped after the first ring.

She needed help. Who could she go to? She was the Lady Morgana! In the mortal realm under the rule of the magic-hating King Uther!

For two days she suffered like this, both wanting to flee the room yet determined to never leave it again. In the end, she was forced out, by the fire.

She had been sleeping, twitching and whimpering with the dream. Her body shivered. She could not get warm. There was snow and ice all around and she was naked. Her skin was gooseflesh. Patches of it were turning blue. She needed warmth. She was going to freeze to death and she could feel it. Her heart was slowing down. Her blood was running slow. It hurt to even open her eyes. Her feet was numb and toes were missing. She could not move her fingers.

 _I need a blanket,_ she thought. _I’m so cold. Please. A fire. A bit of shelter. Anything._

Suddenly there was warmth. She saw a roaring fire before her, and she was so happy and so cold that she jumped into it.

She had jumped awake to find that her room was lit up. There was a moment’s confusion and then she realized—the curtains were on fire.

Now she was stomping on the flames, yelling for someone to help her. She abandoned the task of putting out the fire and fled the room, ripping open the door and running into the hall. “Help!” she screamed. “Fire! Fire!”

She heard shouts and footsteps, but her eyes were fixated on the fire. It was quickly eating up the carpet, and the base of her armoire was being licked by the flames. Knights rushed past her, fire extinguishers in hand. Someone grabbed and pulled her to the side, out of the way. She kept looking until the golden glow disappeared from her sightline.

 _I did that,_ she thought to herself. _That was magic, and that was me._

And even though she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. It was too impossible. Too real. She felt sick, and dropped to her knees.

“What’s happened?” Uther demanded. He rushed onto the scene, dressed in blue and white striped boxers with a black silk robe over himself. He tied it and nearly fumbled over his black slippers. “Morgana? Morgana! _Is she all right?_ ”

“Morgana!” Arthur yelled, appearing from the other end of the hall. He wore only sweatpants, and was barefoot, bare-chested, with a sword in his hand. He spied his sister and ran to her, sliding into a kneel before her. “Morgana, what happened?”

Morgana looked at him, and her vision swam. “I don’t… I…” Her eyes drooped shut and she fell into his arms.

Uther joined them right then. He took one look at Morgana and his face contorted with fear. “Call Gaius,” he ordered the nearest knight. He turned to another. “You, bring a car to the nearest exit. We’re taking her to the hospital.”

* * *

 

Merlin woke with a start. He sat up in bed, his heart pounding. Something had woken him. He was not sure what, but his magic was thrumming in his veins and demanding action.

Then, suddenly, the telephone rang.

Merlin threw his blankets off and bolted out of his room. He yanked the phone off the hook and panted, “Hello?”

Gaius came lumbering into the kitchen, yawning as Merlin held the phone to his ear. The old man did not say anything as he easily pulled the receiver from Merlin’s hand and put it against his own head. “Hello?” he said. He did not notice Merlin’s horrorstruck expression. “What? No, that was Merlin, I—what? Oh God, is anyone hurt? Yes, yes of course. I’m on my way.” Gaius dropped the phone on the counter. “Merlin, go put some trousers on.”

“She’s hurt, Gaius,” Merlin said numbly.

“She’s on her way to the hospital, she’ll be fine,” Gaius snapped. “Uther has sent a car for us. Go!”

* * *

 

The ride was silent and tense. Merlin was on high alert, his magic uncommonly alive. He could not stop his fingers from drumming across the seat nor his leg from jittering up and down. Yet Merlin did not feel right. He was too wound, as if he had drunk some of that coffee stuff Gaius had warned him away from.

The closer they drew to the hospital, the more intense everything seemed. The streetlights glowed more and more brightly. Every noise was a little higher in its pitch. Merlin could feel every fiber in the leather he was seated on. They pulled up to the hospital entrance and as Merlin stepped out he could taste illness in the air. And something else.

Somehow Merlin knew where to go. He strode ahead of Gaius, ignoring the people in bright white clothes and easily finding the stairs. As he walked his world grew sharper. His magic seemed to be singing.

Merlin blinked, and he was suddenly in front of a door, a knight on either side. “Merlin?” said Valiant. “Where did you come from?”

“Is she all right?” Merlin demanded.

The knight blinked, surprised. “She’s stable right now, but the doctors don’t know what’s happened. They don’t want to give her anything without Gaius’s consent.”

Merlin nodded and pushed past them. Valiant almost stopped him, but changed his mind and instead closed the door after him.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, standing up. Uther glanced up from Morgana, but Merlin did not hold his interest long. “Are you with Gaius?”

But Merlin didn’t hear him. He had seen Morgana, and he could not look away.

The lady was dressed in a thin white gown, blending in with the bed sheets and walls around her. It seemed to pull the color out of her skin. Her eyes were closed delicately. A plastic mask covered her nose and mouth, a tube protruding from it and disappearing under the bed. Another tube stuck out of her arm, while something beeped quietly.

Merlin swallowed. Was this how mortals treated their sick? By shoving plastic into them? The idea horrified him.  

Abruptly Gaius entered from behind him and smoothly pushed Merlin out of the way. “What’s happened, tell me everything,” Gaius ordered.

A man in a long white coat Merlin had not noticed before (probably because he blended in with the rest of the room) stepped forward and handed Gaius a paper from his clipboard. “No burns, but she seems to have gone into shock. We can’t find any traces of drugs in her system. She’s dehydrated, however. We have her on an IV drip.”

“No drugs?” Gaius questioned, inspecting the charts. “Not even the ones I prescribed her?”

“We found those on the floor of her room,” Leon stated. “Looks like she hasn’t taken any for a few days.”

Gaius frowned. “Really,” he said with a hint of confusion.

“Gaius, I fear she… she’s really ill this time,” Uther said, and his voice was strangled.

“As far as we can tell, she’s fine,” the doctor stated, a little defensively.

Gaius pursed his lips together. “Sire,” he began, “may I speak with you and Dr. Verne?”

Uther hesitated, then nodded. The doctor put the clipboard on the end of Morgana’s bed and followed them out.

Arthur sighed when they exited and rubbed his face. He said something, but Merlin did not hear him. A loud ringing had filled his ears. He blinked confusedly at nothing at all and struggled to remember what he was doing.

Merlin saw Arthur stand up and walk over to him, but as the mortal prince drew nearer he grew blurry. The ringing escalated. It started to hurt. Merlin winced at the noise. “Can’t you,” he began, and his voice was soft even to his own ears, “can’t you hear that?”

There was a tremendous crash that shattered Merlin’s ears. His magic came alive like a crouching cat. He felt it surge within him, completely out of his control, and then it was over.

Arthur leapt to his feet, ready to fight. A red line went across his cheek, and another threatened to drip into his eye. With a snarl, he wiped at his forehead, and it smeared blood through his eyebrow.

Merlin felt like he had been submerged in water, and was suddenly breaking through the surface. He took a tremendous breath and everything was abruptly normal.  His thoughts tumbled around in his head, the most horrifying one front and center.

_That was magic._

And it was close.

Everything his father told him came rushing back in a flurry. His magic would be noticed. Perhaps it already had been and that was the reason for this attack. There was someone else magical here. He had been sensing them since he woke up.

He needed to hide. He had come far too close to being discovered hardly three days ago with Nimueh. He was not risking that again. And he couldn’t wait for his father to come up with a solution.

He needed a dragon.

Arthur only tensed more when no threat presented itself. “Merlin, we need to get her out of here,” he said in a commanding tone.

Merlin’s heart was beating so hard he could barely hear Arthur. He tried to reply, but nothing came out.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled.

Merlin jumped and hurried to the other side of Morgana’s bed. Arthur hesitated. “I’ve no idea where to put her. Get the nurses—oh god, Merlin, you’re useless tonight—I’ll get them. Stay here.”

Arthur left in a rush, his hands clenching as if they itched for a sword. The moment the prince vanished through the doorway, a hand gripped Merlin’s wrist.

The Druid prince yelped in panic. He raised his other hand, ready to cast, when his blue eyes met green.

“Merlin,” Morgana whispered. Her eyes were wide and her clutch grew tighter. “Merlin you have to help me.”

Merlin stopped. Tentatively, he lowered his hand. There was no reason to be on the defensive. It was just Morgana. She couldn’t hurt him. He needed to calm down. He clasped her hand with his free one and knelt beside her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his heart still beating a little too fast.  

Morgana swallowed and blinked rapidly. “I don’t know,” she said, and her voice was choked. “I’m… I’m going mad. Merlin, you have to help me. The windows—it was me. I have _magic._ ” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my god,” she breathed. “I have magic. I said it. What do I do? Merlin! You have to—!”

She went abruptly silent at the sound of the door opening. A horde of nurses filed into the room and pushed Morgana’s bed away. Merlin stood stock still, unable to process her words. He could only stand and blink, his hand still outstretched from Morgana clutching his wrist. His brain seemed to short-circuit. All he could see was Morgana, lying in front of him, whispering _I have magic._

“Merlin.”

Gaius’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. He swallowed and looked at his mentor. “Yes?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What happened here,” Gaius snapped.

“It wasn’t me,” Merlin said weakly.

“You’ve been behaving strangely since we left the house.”

Merlin hesitated. “I heard something, Gaius. It woke me up. Mor—.” He broke off because at that moment Arthur entered the room.

“Gaius,” Arthur said, “my father has requested your presence.”

Gaius took a moment to scowl at Merlin before he left the room. Arthur took a deep breath and faced Merlin. “I have to go back to the citadel,” he said somberly. “My father’s positively batty.” With that, Arthur left the room.

Merlin, finally alone to collect his thoughts, decided he should go to the dragon at once, and—

“Merlin, don’t dally.”

“Sorry?” Merlin said, confused.

Arthur gave him a pretentious look. “When I say I have to be somewhere, it obviously means you must accompany me.”

* * *

 

Despite all his faults, Arthur was obviously well-respected. Every single knight appeared at the midnight summons (it was actually closer to two AM, but that was the official title). Merlin stood slightly behind the mortal prince, as was customary of a servant. His mind was slightly torn, both attempting to listen to Arthur and form a solution to the Morgana Problem (as he had lovingly dubbed it) at the same time.

“Sir Knights of Camelot,” Arthur was saying, and Merlin just happened to tune in, “I cannot stress enough how rigorous these restrictions will be. Even the slightest detection of magic can lead to imprisonment.” Arthur hesitated. “For the next few hours, restrictions remain as they are. I cannot put anything new in place without the king’s written approval.”

There was a small murmur amongst the knights. Arthur gave a deep sigh. “Which _means,_ sir knights, if there is anyone you do not wish to see subjected to the coming atrocities, get them out _now._ ”

Merlin stopped all his thoughts. He blinked in confusion.

As the knights filed out, he hopped to Arthur’s side. “Sire, I thought you hated magic,” he said uncertainly. “Why would you do that?”

“Not all who use magic are as evil as their prince,” Arthur told him sincerely. “Just as not all mortals are as against magic as my father.” Then he paused. “If there’s… someone you need to inform, I won’t ask any questions.”

Merlin noted Arthur’s tone and fear rose in his throat. “I…” He trailed off uncertainly. This could be his only chance to see the dragon. He had no idea what sort of guard it would be placed under once the new restrictions were in place. But was it safe to let Arthur think he was associated with magic?

Before he could decide, the mortal prince placed a hand on his shoulder. “On second thought, I order you to go home for the night. Just… go do whatever it is you want to do.” He smiled a little, but it quickly dropped. “But if you’re not back by dawn, it’s the stocks for you.”

Merlin allowed himself a small laugh. “There aren’t any stocks,” he scoffed.

“You go on believing that then. Show up late tomorrow. I dare you.”

“I just might!” Merlin grinned. “Good night, sire.” He hardly waited for Arthur’s response before leaving the hall, trying not to run as he headed for the door.

* * *

 

The stairs were as they always were, boarded up and unguarded. He ducked easily underneath the boards and hurried down the steps, lighting a flame in his palm as he walked. The instant the ground leveled, Merlin shouted, “Kilgharrah! I need you!”

For a moment, there was utter silence, and Merlin started to panic. Then the loud rush of wings echoed throughout the abandoned tube tunnel and the massive beast slammed onto the ledge. “That is no way to summon me, young warlock,” the dragon said, his tone unimpressed.

“Kilgharrah, there’s… been an incident. Uther is going to up the security on magic,” Merlin explained in a rush.

The dragon blew air through its nostrils. “I hardly see how that’s my concern.”

Merlin’s body sagged with desperation. “You must care a _little_ about the magical people in Camelot! Otherwise why would you keep bothering me about it all?”

“I have been imprisoned in this cavern for centuries,” the Great Dragon snapped. “Not even the mortals remembered they had me, until they tried to build this track through my prison. None of the creatures on the surface concern me.”

Heart clenching, Merlin said, “You don’t understand, I’m going to be caught, and—.”

“Whatever happens is meant to be,” the dragon said with finality. It began to beat its wings, preparing to leave.

“I am a Dragonlord!” Merlin shouted, and his eyes flared with magic. The flame in his hand billowed. “You cannot disregard me like this!”

It had been a foolish, desperate last effort, and Merlin did not expect it to work. Yet the dragon narrowed its eyes, and its wings stilled. “Forgive me, my lord,” the dragon rumbled, bowing its head slightly.

Merlin gaped in shock, but quickly straightened himself into a more princely posture. “Right. Kilgharrah, I need something that will hide my magic.”

The dragon’s eyes remained slits and its claws dug into the rocks beneath them. “Someone as powerful as you is hard to conceal,” it stated thoughtfully, though there was an edge in its tone.

“Is… is there some sort of charm?” Merlin wondered. “I have something now. It keeps the magic detectors from going off. But I don’t think it works against other Druids.”

“No.” Kilgharrah blew steam from its nostrils. “It wouldn’t. You will need something like this.” The dragon turned itself around and peered over the edge of the cavern. When it faced Merlin again, it had a small, silver chain on its claw. It held it up to its mouth and blew on it.

Merlin had seen dragon fire before, and he had even seen a dragon gift a Druid with a sword. But he had never seen it like this.

The flames were not orange or yellow, but pink as the sunrise. Despite being so close Merlin could not feel their heat. The dragon closed its lips, and the fire did not sputter out, but stopped all at once, and little embers glowed around the metal like glitter. A pink stone now hung from the metal.

“Take this, young warlock,” and Kilgharrah tossed the chain over the metal that restricted it. “Wear it around your neck. It will keep your magic muted.”

Merlin picked up the thin chain from the tiled floor and examined the amulet. It felt… like a rock, surprisingly. “Just wear it?” he asked.

“You won’t be able to perform magic with it on,” the dragon informed him. “But so long as you wear it, you will appear mortal.”

Uncertain, Merlin pulled the skinny chain over his head and around his neck. The moment it settled, he felt the true weight of it. It pressed down on his magic like a ton of water, and his head began to ache slightly.

“You will get used to it,” Kilgharrah said. The dragon blew steam from its nostrils before turning around and flying off into the infinite darkness of the cavern.

Merlin touched the amulet on his chest. Already he was forgetting how it felt without it there, much like a sick person forgets what it is like to be well. He breathed a sigh of relief, and, as he trotted back up the stone steps, he felt safer.


	11. The Ambassador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Agravaine pays a short visit

_The most recent war in European history saw the fall of the Druid king Badrys during the Battle of Dragon’s Peak. In retaliation for the king’s death, Prince Balinor unleashed a horde of dragons on the mortal army. Dragon’s Peak was retaken by the Druids, and the mortals suffered losses that forced them to sign the Western Treaty. This treaty demanded the separation of mortals and Druids and is still in act to this day._

* * *

 

King Uther sat at his daughter’s bedside, brooding silently. All his thinking had come to a stop for the moment, and he simply watched Morgana breathe in her sleep.

A part of him chastised himself for getting distracted. He needed to plan the new security protocols. He needed to think about how the public would interpret his actions. But all he could see was his daughter, the apple of his eye, lying in the hospital cot.

The door to the small hospital room opened, and the familiar sound of a knight snapping to attention before his king was heard. “Sire,” the knight stated. “I’ve come to inform you that Lord Agravaine is on his way to Camelot.”

“Agravaine?” Uther said, confused. He turned to peer at the knight. “What for?”

The knight grimaced. “Well, sire, news of the lady’s condition spread quickly, and the lord is very fond of her. He wants to come see her himself.”

Uther hesitated. “Very well,” he said eventually. “Have a room readied for him. And not in the same hall as Morgana.”

“Yes sire.”

* * *

 

Arthur was very quiet when Merlin walked into his study that morning. “Sire?” he asked, holding back.

For a moment, Arthur was silent. Then he said, “Three of the knights have yet to come in.” His voice was quiet, flat.

Merlin swallowed. If those men were Druids… how must they have felt when they heard Emrys was in Camelot? Could they feel him as Nimueh could?

It was like his thoughts petered out. What was he thinking about again? He couldn’t quite remember.

“If they don’t show up by the end of the day… I won’t say anything. If my father asks, then they had family emergencies.” Arthur looked at Merlin the first time that morning. His face changed. “You seem… different.”

Merlin opened his mouth, despite being unsure of what he was about to say, but at that moment there was a knock on the door. “Enter!” Arthur called.

Elyan pushed the door open and strode in. “My lord,” he began, “Agravaine is on his way from the States. He’ll arrive in two hours.”

Arthur’s blankness turned into a grin. “Really?” he asked. “I’ll meet him myself. Merlin, see to it that a car is readied for us by then.” The prince leapt to his feet and strode from the room. “And polish my armor!” he called.

Merlin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Polish your own bloody armor,” he mumbled.

Gwaine caught his eye and grinned. “Best keep the princess happy,” he said cheekily. He clapped Merlin on the back and followed his prince.

* * *

 

Often when Merlin sat through Arthur’s menial chores, he considered completing them with magic. Today, the thought did not even cross his mind. He sat down in his chair and rhythmically rubbed the rag against the metal, and the task commanded all his focus. It was only after he had finished that he noticed.

Hesitantly he set the armor on its stand. He had never been this compliant. And he had never done this good a job. Merlin grimaced uncertainly. Maybe he ought to rough it up a bit, so Arthur wouldn’t get suspicious.

His first thought _should_ have been to shoot it with magic. It wasn’t. Instead he thought first of letting drops of water dry on it, like rain on a car. Merlin blinked. “I should just…” He lost his thought. What had he been worried about?

Look at what a lovely job he had done! Arthur would surely be proud. He smiled to himself.

But there wasn’t time to dally and admire his work. Arthur needed a car for later. Merlin left the armory briskly and went straight to the chauffeurs’ lounge.

* * *

 

Morgana opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was an unusual way to wake up. She had been sleeping so much she was sick of it. Silently, she rolled her head to the side and reached for the cup of water sitting on the little table. The room was empty, and it was a relief.

She no longer felt weak. As she sipped her water she wondered how stupid it would be to pull out her IV and walk around. Idly her finger wrapped around the little tube, pinching it as she contemplated her situation.

Morgana heard something, an unidentifiable sound that simply got her attention, and she looked up.

She choked on her water.

A woman was standing over her, curling blonde locks hanging down as she leaned over Morgana. Her dark brown eyes glowed, and her long fingers curled over the railing on the cot. Scrambling, Morgana reached wildly for the pen on the bedside table. She heard it clatter to the floor and, for a split-second, she glanced away from the blonde woman.

When she looked back, she was gone.

Morgana gasped and clutched at her heart. Why? Why was this happening to her? _I’ve gone completely mad,_ she realized. _I’ll take whatever they give me. I’d rather be sick than insane._

There was a knock at the door. “My lady?” It opened, and a nurse stepped in. She rushed to her side. “Your heart rate is elevated—what’s wrong?”

Morgana slowly, slowly, uncurled her fingers from her chest and forced her hand down. “I-I’m all right,” she managed, and she grinned. “Where is the king?”

“He’s conversing with the captain of the knights. Would you like me to fetch him?”

“No!” Morgana said, too quickly. “I mean, no, thank you. I’m sure he’s busy.”

The nurse nodded understandingly. She patted Morgana’s arm. “If there’s anything you need, my lady, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Of course,” Morgana replied. “Actually!”

The nurse stopped and looked at her.

“Um, would you… send for Merlin?”

The nurse paused. “Who?”

Morgana bit her lip. “Ask one of the knights to tell him.”

“Of course, my lady,” the nurse said with a bow. She exited the room and closed the door gently behind her.

Morgana tried to relax. She took deep breaths and closed her eyes. She could trust Merlin to talk to Gaius. If she went through Merlin, Uther wouldn’t have to know. Deep breaths. Be calm. Merlin would come. He would help her.

She felt a little flutter in her heart as she thought that, a different sort of panic. She forced herself not to think like that. This was too important for her feelings to get in the way.

* * *

 

“So the car’s all ready?” Merlin asked.

The chauffeur frowned. “There’s not much to ready, honestly,” he admitted.

There was the sound of running feet, and Sir Elyan entered the garage. “Christ, Merlin, don’t you have a mobile?” he panted.

Merlin blinked. “No, I guess I don’t,” he said distantly.

“The Lady Morgana requests that you visit her.”

Merlin paused for a moment. “I’m a little busy,” he said.

Elyan stared at him, confusion written all over his face. “I don’t think you have a choice,” he said carefully. “Come on. I’ll escort you.”

“What do I need escorting for?” Merlin asked. He felt a little fluffy, like there couldn’t possibly be anything wrong.

“New security measures,” Elyan reminded him. “You’ll get through them faster with me.”

Something tickled in the back of Merlin’s mind, a little whisper saying, _right, security measures._ But for the life of him he could not figure out why that mattered.

“Merlin,” Elyan said.

Merlin straightened up and followed him.

* * *

 

Elyan dragged Merlin through several newly instated security checks through the castle. As they went, more were being set up with knights to run them. Elyan got a pass most of the time, but they were still slowed down, and it took nearly an hour to reach the hospital.

After pushing through the several new safeguards on Morgana’s floor, Elyan opened the door to Morgana’s room and allowed Merlin to enter alone.

“Door closed, please.”

Elyan bowed and closed it.

Merlin blinked stupidly. He beamed at Morgana, who sat cross-legged on her bed. Her IV was visible and the tube hung off the bed. “My lady, how can I help you?”

Morgana stared at him in confusion. “Come… sit down,” she ordered uncertainly.

Merlin obediently perched in the chair beside her bed. Morgana glanced down at his hand. She opened her mouth, and her brows knit slightly, before she looked up with a flush in her cheeks. “Merlin, what’s wrong.” She did not ask. She demanded.

“Nothing, my lady,” he said happily.

She narrowed her eyes. “When we are in private,” she said, “you call me Morgana.”

“Of course.”

Morgana looked hurt. She closed her eyes and swallowed. “Merlin,” she began, sounding determined, “I need you to keep what I said secret.”

“What?” Merlin asked, genuinely confused.

“I mean, I was distressed! And ill! I was talking absolute nonsense. So… pretend I never said anything about… _that._ ”

Merlin stared, his expression blank.

Morgana gaped at him. “Merlin!”

“Of course, my lady!” Merlin exclaimed. At her sharp look, he amended, “Morgana.”

“Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“What?”

Morgana grit her teeth. “ _Magic,_ Merlin, what I said about _magic._ ”

“Oh.” Merlin suddenly remembered the exchange, with Morgana clutching his hand tight and whispering her fears. He frowned inwardly. How could he forget something like that? He looked away. “Right, right. I don’t… I’m sorry.”

Morgana pressed her lips together, so tight they became a thin line. “Well, I want you to… forget I ever said that, I guess. I’m not… Druid. I’m… I’m mad. And I need you to ensure that Gaius will keep this secret from my father.”

Merlin processed all of this slowly. It hurt his brain to think this much. “You… want Gaius to prescribe you medication for this? And not tell Uther?”

“Please, Merlin, you have to do this for me.” She looked at him, pleading.

Merlin struggled to comprehend this. She wanted him to break the rules? And lie to his king? But that would be wrong! And, as a loyal subject of Camelot, he ought to obey his king.

 _I’m not…_ The thought tried to form, but it trailed off into the buzz of his mental processes and was lost.

But what did make it through the static of Merlin’s brain was his feelings, like a little nuzzling from within his heart that made him want to please this beautiful, sick woman before him.

“I will,” he promised. He nodded to reassure himself, and hesitantly he grabbed Morgana’s hand. “I swear.”

There was a crash as the door flew open, making the two of them jump. Morgana ripped her hand from Merlin’s. “Morgana!” the man exclaimed.

Morgana gawked. “Agravaine?” she said in disbelief.

The man slid between Merlin and Morgana and knelt down, grasping her hand like a chivalrous knight. Morgana grimaced at his touch. She met Merlin’s eyes briefly over his head, begging for help.

“My dear child,” Agravaine began dramatically, “I heard you were attacked! And of course I came as quick as I could. It’s so dreadful to see you like this, child.” He kissed her hand, and his lips lingered a little too long. Morgana looked horrified.

Agravaine stood and ushered Merlin out of the chair. No sooner had he taken the seat than Arthur rushed into the room, glowering at Merlin.

Merlin jumped at his expression. Shame filled him like hot water, and an embarrassed flush rose in his cheeks.

Arthur haltingly stepped over to Merlin. “Where were you,” he hissed.

Merlin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.

“Arthur, dear nephew,” Agravaine said, and Arthur looked up, all his anger gone, “tell my escort outside to take a break.”

Arthur smiled. “Of course, uncle.” He turned back to Merlin and that pissed-off look returned. “Merlin, go tell his escort to take a break.”

Merlin fumbled over what to do. Should he bow? Reply? Just go do it?

The end result saw Merlin pathetically blubber for a minute, half bow, and trip over a chair on his way out the door.

The men in sharp suits all looked up as Merlin windmilled his arms to keep his balance. He finally caught himself, took a moment to breathe, and looked up. “Um, Avocado wants you to take a break.”

The men snorted and muffled their laughter, and Merlin smiled.

“Who are you, kid?” the one nearest him asked, grinning under his sunglasses. His accent was foreign, and rather nasally.

“I’m Merlin,” he introduced. “I’m Prince Arthur’s personal slave.”

They chuckled again. “Right, well, if we get a break,” said another, sounding Scottish, “let’s hit that bakery Stiles was talking about.”

“Coming with us?” the first man offered.

Merlin was about to answer, but someone else did it for him. “No, he’s busy.”

All the men grimaced. Arthur stepped out from behind Merlin and gripped his shoulder possessively.

“Right, well… we’ll be back in a half hour,” the first man said. He nodded at Merlin, and they left the hall.

Arthur forced Merlin to face him. “Did I hear you call my uncle ‘avocado’?”

Merlin was speechless. There were two people at war inside him, one that was Merlin and one that was pathetically mortal. And the latter was winning.

Arthur sighed in exasperation. “Lord Agravaine de Bois is my mother’s brother. He lives in the United States as an ambassador.”

Merlin nodded obediently. “I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t know.”

Arthur squinted at Merlin. “Since when are you so… submissive?”

“Would you like me to be less submissive, sire?”

Arthur paused, then waved his hand around. “Whatever, never mind. What did Morgana want?”

Merlin’s brain screeched to a halt. _Keep it secret._ Sweat formed on his forehead and his cheeks went red. “Um, uh, well, um—.”

As Merlin stammered, Arthur’s lips curled into a grin. “I see,” he said deviously.

Merlin’s eyes widened. Had he given it away?

Unexpectedly Arthur clapped Merlin on the back. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Merlin, but I must say I’m impressed. “

“What?” Merlin said, sounding strangled.

“Of course, if my father finds out the two of you are… _together,_ he’ll stick a sword through you.” Arthur grinned again. “Doesn’t sound pleasant, does it?”

Merlin struggled to understand the situation. He tried to speak, but his words were just little spasms in his throat.

Arthur turned around, intending to go back into Morgana’s room, but he stopped when he heard ringing. He reached into his pocket and produced his mobile. “Yes Father?” Arthur asked. He waited. “Yes, I’m coming.” He hung up and started briskly walking down the hall. “Merlin, come on!” he barked.

Merlin jogged to catch up. “What’s wrong, sire?”

“My father’s caught a Druid in the hospital lobby,” Arthur said. “Possibly the one that attacked Morgana yesterday.”

Somewhere in Merlin’s mind, he knew that was wrong, and he knew it enough to say something about it. “She wasn’t attacked.”

Arthur just chuckled as he punched the elevator button. “Merlin, next time something happens, please keep your eyes open.”

“But,” Merlin began, and then the elevator doors opened and the thought slipped away. He frowned and tried to find it. He knew it was important. He scowled in concentration and searched his brain.

“If you think any harder, you’ll blow a vessel,” Arthur commented. The elevator dinged and Arthur stepped out as if he had never stopped moving. “Hurry up, Merlin!”

Merlin ran after him, and by the time he caught up, he had forgotten to think about whatever it was.

“Father,” Arthur called, and his brisk pace became a jog.

Merlin followed him and came to a screeching halt. The lobby of the hospital was a sea of red capes, standing like a bloody wall. The knights all faced inwards. Merlin had a feeling their hands were on their weapons. Around them, the hospital staff and patrons cowered or looked on approvingly.

“Arthur.” The knights parted to let Uther pass through. He stepped over to his son. “Morgana, is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine,” Arthur assured him. “Agravaine is with her.”

Uther hesitated. “She’s alone with him?”

Arthur frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no.” Uther shook his head and turned back to the knights. “We caught her in our security scan. She refuses to talk.”

The knights parted and allowed Uther, Arthur, and Merlin into the circle. Merlin’s heart stopped when he saw her.

The Druid woman was quaking with terror. She wore green scrubs dotted with tear stains and her blonde hair was tied back. She sniffled and sobbed from where she sat on the floor, her hands bound in front of her and her legs tied so she sat in a curled heap.

“Please,” she gasped. “I… I’m not…”

“Sorceress,” Uther began, and the woman flinched, “there is no question as to what you are. There is no question as to what you did. The only thing we need to know is why you did it.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything,” she whispered. “I didn’t. It wasn’t me. I—.”

“I am willing to overlook your offenses,” Uther proclaimed. Several of the hospital patrons made indignant noises. They wanted to see the witch punished. “If you did them under the command of another.”

The woman’s lip trembled and she took a shuddering breath.

Uther looked at her with something like pity, but there was too much disgust in his face. “I know that the Druid king can be a very… persuasive individual.”

For some reason, these words made Merlin’s stomach warm with anger.

“He may have even employed witchcraft to encourage your actions.”

She shook her head and shook her head and shook her head.

“Tell us, witch,” Uther said, and he knelt down in front of her, “why did Balinor attack my daughter?”

The woman kept trembling. She took a gasping breath and said, “I am not Druid. I am mortal.” She gasped again. “Please,” she said, meeting the king’s eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Uther reached out and struck her so fast Merlin almost missed it. Strange fury boiled in Merlin at the sight of the red mark on the woman’s face. Beside him, Arthur flinched.

“ _Liar!_ ” Uther screamed. He stood up and straightened his suit. “Take her to the citadel. Have Aredian interrogate her.”

“Father—!” Arthur exclaimed, but suddenly the knights broke formation. Two of them lifted the woman to her feet. In a rush, she was pushed out of the lobby, and she and her escort were gone.

Merlin realized Arthur was no longer beside him, and he raced to catch up with him. “Father,” Arthur was saying, “Father I think using the Witch Hunter is too much.”

“Arthur, you know nothing of war,” Uther snapped. “Before you were born, Balinor unleashed the dragons on us. He sent his son into our kingdom. And now he has attacked Morgana. We must take drastic measures if we are to survive his onslaught.”

Arthur grabbed his father’s arm, and the action made everyone who saw stiffen. Even for the prince, it was improper. “Father,” he said, and he commanded Uther’s attention. “Are you sure this woman attacked Morgana?” When the king did not reply, Arthur went deeper. “What evidence do you have?”

Uther’s eyes narrowed. Merlin saw the king lean toward his son, his expression deadly. “I know Balinor,” he hissed. “And I have seen enough corrupt magicians to know there are no good ones.” He tore himself from his son’s grip and walked briskly to the elevator.

Arthur turned, his lips pressed into a flat line. “He’s going to torture that girl until she tells him what he wants to hear,” he said, and his voice was broken.

Merlin hesitated, his thoughts torn between obedience to his king and sympathy for the innocent girl.

How did he know she was innocent? He could not remember.

“Come on,” Arthur ordered, striding back the way they had come. “Aredian will listen to me.”

Merlin fought for an excuse—he needed to sort out his strange anger—but his thoughts went fuzzy like a bad signal. He winced. His feet took him after Arthur without his consent.

* * *

 

Deep in the earth, the Great Dragon lay curled on the floor of its cavern. It could feel Emrys better now that the prince wore the amulet. Much easier, now, to reach inside his vulnerable head.

It flexed his claws with pleasure, feeling the cold earth beneath it. Soon, the young warlock would return, and Kilgharrah would finally— _finally_ —be free.


	12. The Tournament

_A tournament is one of the oldest traditions in the mortal kingdom. It represents the stability of the crown and the morale of the country. Typically, there is one every year, but the king may call for smaller ones anytime._

* * *

 

Arthur fidgeted in the car as they drove back to the citadel. It took all of Merlin’s brain power to remember why.

The Druid girl. Who may not be Druid.

“Maybe the magic detector was faulty,” Merlin said, though the words felt fuzzy in his mouth.

Arthur nodded to himself. Then he said, “Can you have magic and not know it?”

Merlin wanted to answer, because he _knew_ the answer, but it slipped away like a bar of soap.

Arthur turned so he was facing Merlin. “What if you can have magic, but only a little bit? Maybe, several generations ago, someone in your family was Druid, and now it shows up? Loyal citizens of Camelot could be wrongly convicted and not even know why!” Arthur shook his head in disgust. “I can’t let that happen. These people look to me—to my father—for protection. If we stop providing that, we are no better than the Druids.”

That struck a chord with Merlin. He burned with anger, and something within him twitched, but a moment later he forgot it.

“We’re here, sire,” the driver said.

Arthur opened the door and did not wait for Merlin. Merlin thanked the driver and followed his prince, once again needing to jog to catch up.

“Good evening, Prince Arthur,” a maid said, hurrying to keep pace with him. “How is the Lady Morgana, my lord?”

“I’m busy. Ask Merlin.”

The maid halted and turned to Merlin. She fell into step beside him. “How is the Lady Morgana?”

“Um,” Merlin said. “We’re busy. Sorry.” He ran a little faster.

Arthur led him down a flight of stairs Merlin had never used before. “Merlin, when we get down there, I want you to stay back,” Arthur instructed. His words jumped with the steps.

“Okay,” Merlin said.

“ _Okay?_ ” Abruptly Arthur stopped and turned around. “Really?”

Merlin nodded.

Arthur paused, his expression puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak.

A violent scream echoed up the stairwell, startling Merlin and his prince. Arthur leapt down the last few steps and rounded the corner, with Merlin hot on his heels.

The dark corridor was lined with bars. As they ran, Merlin could glimpse between them. He saw tiny rooms—no, cells—and they were all empty. Naked light bulbs hung from the ceiling, much like in the aquifer below the citadel. Bare wires connected them, hugging the ceiling of the ancient dungeon.

Another scream resounded on the walls. “You need only confess,” came another voice. It was soft, gentle. “Then we can stop.”

“ _Please,_ ” sobbed another.

They came upon an old wooden door at the end of the corridor, with iron bands bolted into it. The singe marks in the metal told Merlin it was anti-magic, marked with the pain of desperate sorcerers that had brushed it as they were pulled into the torture chamber.

For some reason, Merlin wanted to touch it.

Arthur did not lost speed as he grabbed the iron handle and pushed the heavy door open. “Aredian!” he yelled.

Merlin followed his prince, and immediately the air became heavy.

The chamber was circular and built of black stone, with three long steps lining the room like terraces. Tall, unforgiving statues stood on the top rung and stared down at the center, holding torches lit with real flames. They provided the only light in the room. Down in the middle stood a man, and before him, on an iron slab and wrapped in chains, was the woman from the hospital.

“Prince Arthur,” said the man who could only be Aredian. He looked mildly surprised. “Have you come to watch me work?”

Arthur walked briskly down the steps so that he stood on the other side of the slab. Merlin would have followed, but he recalled Arthur’s orders and stayed back.

“This girl is innocent,” Arthur declared. “I order you to release her at once.”

Aredian looked up at Arthur. He was shorter than the prince, and he tended to hunch. “My orders to interrogate her come from Uther,” he said simply.

“And so does the order to release her,” Arthur replied.

“I don’t think the king would revoke his orders so… flippantly.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I am the crown prince of Camelot,” he said in a dangerous voice. “I represent the throne when my father is absent. As far as you’re concerned right now I _am_ the king. And I order you to release her.”

For a long moment, there was challenge in Aredian’s eyes. Then he sighed and removed his hands from the slab. “As you wish, my lord.” He bowed low, mocking.

Arthur did not break eye contact with the Witch Hunter. “Merlin!” he barked. “Come undo her binds.”

Obediently Merlin trotted over. Aredian’s eyes slid over to him, and Merlin’s stomach clenched. Those eyes were unnervingly bright, and grey as ghosts. Merlin could feel something pull within him, pull _away_ from those hollow spheres _._ A sudden fear gripped him as he stood there, and an icy chill filled his stomach. He could hear the woman whimpering before him, but his eyes were fixed on Aredian.

_Merlin. Do not show him anything._

Merlin heard the voice, and he knew it. He was not sure where from, but it was old and wise and familiar. Merlin held out his hand.

“What?” Aredian said.

“I need the key,” Merlin said quietly. He could feel Arthur behind him, and his presence gave Merlin courage.

With narrowed eyes, Aredian removed a small iron key from his pocket and dropped it in Merlin’s palm.

It sizzled.

Immediately Merlin dropped his hand and began working on the chains, hoping the sound of them rattling would mask the sound of his skin burning. He could feel his palms melting into the iron, making his eyes water. He concentrated on keeping his face straight as he worked the key into the locks.

The moment the last cuff came undone, Merlin dropped the key on the slab and folded his arms behind him like a good servant, stepping back as far as he could without seeming strange. He lifted his head and looked Aredian in the eye.

The woman sat up and scrambled off the slab. She stumbled and hid behind Merlin, clutching his shoulders for protection.

“Thank you,” Arthur said with a bitter smile. He walked purposefully from the chamber. Merlin took that as a cue to follow him. The woman clung to him, quaking and sobbing.

And Aredian kept his eyes on Merlin. Merlin could feel them boring into him, those hollow orbs seeing right through him. The cold feeling followed Merlin even after they left the chamber.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered when the door shut. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

“It is my duty to protect my citizens,” Arthur said without looking at her. “Especially when my father fails to.”

The woman grabbed Merlin’s arm, and he whipped around. Her eyes traveled to his blistered palm. “Thank _you,_ ” she breathed, lifting her gaze. “I know what you did for me.”

Merlin said, “It is my duty to protect my citizens.”

The woman gasped. Merlin looked at her with concern. As quickly as he had said the words, their meaning left him.

There was a thick silence.

“Are you two all right?” Arthur said, backtracking to them.

The woman gaped at Merlin. He peered at her. “Are you… are you all right?”

Her eyes flickered between Merlin and Arthur, now standing side by side.

“Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, I’m fine.” She kept her eyes on Merlin for a moment longer before turning to Arthur. “Please, take me home.”

* * *

 

Morgana was discharged from the hospital the next morning with a new prescription for her night terrors. Agravaine insisted on staying longer to ensure her wellbeing, to which Uther reluctantly agreed.

Arthur adored his uncle and wanted to impress him. And, somehow, Arthur convinced his father to hold a tournament.

“A tournament?” Merlin asked. He had to think especially hard on it. “Fencing?”

“Fencing, jousting, bow and arrow, everything,” Arthur replied excitedly. “It’s set for Saturday. Gwaine and Leon are participating. I think Percival is going to do wrestling. I always do sword.” He grinned. “It’s a party! And the way the kingdom has been, what with Morgana and Druids and all, we could use a party. It’s always fun, and anyone can enter. Merlin, there’s a fools competition, where you can show off your talents.”

When Merlin did not laugh, or even register the joke, Arthur’s smile faltered, but he continued. “If someone not of noble birth wants to become a knight, tournaments are the way to do it, according to the old rules. Although, my father does everything he can to prevent it.” He held up a shirt. “Has this been washed?” he asked.

Merlin stared hard at the shirt. “Um…”

Arthur sighed. “Merlin, you’re slower than usual. And you have been for a few days now.” He sat down on his bed. “If something’s wrong, you’d better tell me.”

There were a lot of things wrong. Morgana, for starters. She had asked him to keep a secret that he really couldn’t remember at the moment. Merlin was living in a thick fog. Constantly he would wake up—sort of—and realize he had no memory of going where he was or why he was there.

“Well,” Merlin tried, “um, Morgana—.” He broke off. Keep it a secret.

Arthur watched him and waited.

Merlin kept his lips tightly shut, and the silence stretched on until he forgot what they were talking about.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted.

Merlin jumped. “Hm?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—.” Arthur stopped. “Gwen says you haven’t been at class lately.”

Merlin blinked. What class? “I haven’t?”

“No. You’re always spacing off. You never listen!” He scowled. “Or you listen too well. You never did this before.” He pursed his lips and hesitated. “Merlin,” he began gently, “if you’re having a problem with drugs, it’s all right.”

The only drugs Merlin knew of were those Gaius kept.

“I mean, I know Gwaine can be very persuasive when it comes to things like this, but he will respect you if you say no. And I can say no for you, if you need it.”

“I don’t understand,” Merlin said carefully.

Arthur looked at him. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s it.” Arthur picked up his mobile from his bed. “I’m calling Gwaine. He’ll tell me.”

Merlin waited silently as Arthur held the phone to his ear. “Gwaine, what—it’s Arthur—what is Merlin on? …What does that mean? But—well, never mind.” He hung up and glared at Merlin. “I _will_ find out,” he said quietly.

Merlin hesitated. “Should I go… polish your armor?”

Arthur sighed. “No Merlin. Go home.”

“Oh.” Merlin was confused. “Okay.”

* * *

 

Saturday. The tournament was upon them. It was remarkable how quickly everything went up, as if they’d had an inflatable tournament set and simply blown it up overnight.

The sports were only a little less gruesome than the old days, and things such as gun shooting had been added. TV screens were set up all around the tournament, announcing which events were next and who would be fighting whom. There was a commentator’s box with microphones that fed to speakers facing the bleachers.

For all the modernization of the mortal lands, they had a very strong tie to tradition. The tents were striped the colors of the kingdom, red and gold. Banners hung everywhere, bearing the Pendragon sigil. They flapped in the slight breeze. Competitors wore modified traditional clothing—sunglasses with their armor or breastplates that were held together with Velcro. They had stickers on their chests blaring their competitor numbers.

All around, the knights paraded in their palace armor and scarlet anti-magic capes. They carried their helmets under their arms and nodded at the ladies. Most of them were competing. The few that had opted out were dressed in sharp black suits with guns at their hips, designated as security. Spectators for the event dressed varyingly, from tunics to blue jeans.

Merlin had to wear traditional clothing as well, consisting of a blue tunic, loose brown trousers, and a red neckerchief. He readied Arthur in the striped tent designated for royalty. He tied the leather straps of the prince’s (extremely authentic) armor, tightened his gauntlets, and presented him with his sword. Arthur took it silently.

“Are you nervous, sire?” Merlin asked gently.

Arthur looked at him. “Since when do you call me ‘sire’?” he demanded.

Merlin blinked. “I’ve always called you sire,” he said.

“Yes, but you’ve never _meant_ it,” said Arthur.

Merlin stood there in confusion for a long while, until Arthur finally said, “You know what? Never mind. Go see if I’m up yet.”

“Yes sire.” Merlin bowed and hurried out, stumbling just enough to careen into the first person in his path.

“Whoa!” they exclaimed.

“I’m so sorry!” Merlin said immediately, bowing in case it was a knight.

“Merlin?”

Merlin looked up and straightened his back.

This man was not a knight, but he wore the armor. He had a number on his chest and a sword at his side. “Merlin, it _is_ you!” the man said, and he pulled Merlin into a hug.

Merlin pushed away and stared at the man’s face for a long time. He recognized him, but the thoughts were slipping away like water in his hands. “You,” he said, and he faltered. He could see his face, see him talking to him in his memories, but they were so cloudy…

“Merlin, it’s Lancelot!”

The name jarred Merlin’s memory, and he broke into a smile. “Lancelot!” he exclaimed, and he embraced him again. “I’m so sorry, I’ve no idea why I didn’t remember you. What are you doing here?”

Lancelot beamed. “I’m here to prove my worth,” he said proudly. “By the end of this tournament, King Uther will be begging me to join his knights.”

“As he should have already,” Merlin said seriously.

The ex-French teacher gave a shrug. “It’s all right. After I left here, I decided that if I can’t become a knight through the university, I’d just have to be the best damn knight there is.” He grinned. “So, that’s what I am today, hopefully.” Then his smile fell. “How’s it going with… with your…”

Merlin said, “What are you talking about?”

Lancelot nodded. “Okay, I guess that means it’s going well.” A horn sounded, and Lancelot jumped. “That might be for me!” he said. “Merlin, come watch me if you can. We’ll get a drink later.” And he ran off.

“Good luck!” Merlin called after him. He turned around, only to find Arthur walking up behind him.

“You’re supposed to find out if it’s my turn,” Arthur told him.

Merlin shrugged. “You’re the prince. I’m sure they’ll wait for you.”

Arthur gave him a strange look. Then he broke into a smile and mumbled something that sounded like “Thank god.”

“What?”

“I said you’re right, Merlin, don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yes sire.”

Arthur sighed.

They walked over to the arena, Merlin carrying Arthur’s helmet. They heard the excitement before they saw it.

Two knights were dueling on the dirt of the arena, much to the thrill of the audience. The bleachers went up fifty seats, and those not in the first few rows watched the large screen on the other side of the field, showing the action up close. Merlin saw the cameras moving about the arenas. One travelled along a wire above the field. He thought it was incredible.

Above all the noise, the commentator’s voice rang loud and clear.

“ _Ooh, and it looks like Sir Grover has it in the bag—but wait! Du Lac is getting up! He’s on his feet! He’s still fighting! He might win this!”_

Merlin grinned and cheered with those around him, not sitting in the bleachers but instead leaning against the railing, whooping. Arthur waved to someone in the audience, and Merlin saw Morgana and Gwen wave back from their special seats beside Uther in the middle of the bleachers.

“Let’s go, Merlin, I’ve got to check in,” Arthur said.

“Can’t we see if Lancelot wins first?” Merlin asked, not looking at him.

Arthur stared at him a moment. “Yes, all right. Stay here. I’ll go check in. Don’t move.”

Merlin did not have to crane his neck to see—he was taller than most. He shouted and clapped and screamed Lancelot’s name, and when Lancelot won, he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loud, like his mother taught him.

The commentator announced the next spar, and Merlin decided to go congratulate Lancelot. The next fight started as he turned to leave.

And then it was over.

The gasp that went through the crowd made Merlin stop, and the commentator shouted with enthusiasm. Merlin looked at the screen and watched the instant replay.

The knight that was now lying on the ground had run at his opponent, who had deftly deflected his blade and clonked him on the head with the butt of his sword, knocking him out.

“ _Wow, that’s got to be a new record!_ ” the commentator shouted. Merlin looked up and saw Uther with his jaw hanging open. Gwen had covered her mouth. Morgana stared at the knight with wide eyes.

The knight noticed Morgana, and bowed slightly.

Morgana’s cheeks flushed. Merlin’s did too, but for a very different reason.

Arthur appeared at his side, but Merlin did not notice until he felt the helmet being pried from his hands. “Thank god you didn’t move,” Arthur said. “What are you glaring at?”

Merlin turned. “Arthur, that tall knight is really, really good,” he said.

Arthur frowned. “And?”

“And I think you should kick his ass.”

A grin split Arthur’s face. “I intend to.” He clapped him on the back. “Come on. I need you with me.”

The duels did not go by quickly. Once the novices were weeded out, it became a grueling game of attrition with the professional fighters. Arthur did well—and only two obviously threw the fight because he was the prince. Lancelot did well, too, but the further along they got, the closer his matches became.

The final four of the fencing competition, after several hours of swordplay, were Arthur, Lancelot, the Tall Knight (as Merlin called him), and Sir Murdock.

Arthur’s fight with Sir Murdock was first.

Merlin was not worried as he watched. Arthur’s footwork did not suffer from exhaustion, and if anything his swing was more powerful. This did not pan out to Arthur’s advantage.

Sir Murdock was backpedaling. Arthur chased after him, swinging the sword and missing, the knight jumping just out of his range. They danced all the way across the stadium, until Arthur took a frustrated swing, missed, and hit a cement pole holding up the bleacher roof.

His sword snapped in the middle of the blade, the metal breaking like a tooth. The force of the hit jarred Arthur’s arm, and he dropped the hilt.

For a moment, the two knights stared in confusion, Sir Murdock lifting his visor to see better. Then he raised his sword, but Arthur was faster. The prince punched him square in the face and sent him reeling. When blood started spurting between his fingers, Sir Murdock surrendered.

Arthur pulled off his helmet and picked up the hilt of his sword. Merlin watched the prince stalk towards him, looking furious despite the victory.

“I need a new sword,” he mumbled, handing Merlin the broken hilt. “And I need it in the next half hour.” When Merlin just gawked at the hilt in his hand, Arthur spoke again, and there was a lot of tension in his voice. “That mystery knight,” he said, pointing at the Tall Knight, “is going to win his next round. And I’m going to need a damn good sword to beat him later. So, Merlin, _go find a sword._ ”

Merlin skedaddled.

He pushed his way through the crowd that was quickly gathering to see the final match, using the broken sword to navigate. When he finally stumbled out of the sweaty mess, he saw Gwen waving and hurrying towards him.

“Merlin!” she said when she was close enough. “Come with me, I know where you can get a sword.” She beckoned him until he was near enough to grab his arm, then proceeded to drag him along. “My father is the palace blacksmith. He always keeps some blades in his car.”

“You know where he is?” Merlin asked, jogging to keep up.

“He always has a booth at tournaments, to showcase his latest armor and stuff.” She smiled over her shoulder as she dragged him along.

They stumbled through the crowd like fish swimming upstream. Everyone was gravitating toward the final sword duel. Next to the jousting, sword-fighting was the biggest event at tournaments. Because it had the most entrants, it usually ran latest. All the other events had ended.

“Dad!” Gwen called, bouncing a little. “Dad, we need your help!”

A dark-skinned man looked up from where he sat at a table. “Guinevere!” he exclaimed, and a delighted smile graced his face.

Gwen came to a screeching halt, making Merlin almost crash into her. “Dad, this is Merlin. Prince Arthur has broken his sword, and we need a new one.”

Gwen’s father blinked, and his smile fell into a sigh. “I’m afraid I’ve had good business today. I’ve sold all but one of my swords, and what’s left is not fit for a prince.”

“All of them!?” Gwen exclaimed.

He nodded. “A collector came through and was impressed with my work. He bought most of them.”

“Well, can I see the last sword?” Merlin asked.

Gwen’s father lifted up the tablecloth and pulled out his last blade. “This is all I have,” he said, and he sounded ashamed. “It’s meant as a beginner’s sword.”

The blade’s metal held a dull sheen and its hilt was ribbed bronze. There was absolutely nothing about it that seemed princely, or even battle-worthy.

And then Merlin’s eyes went glassy, and the cogs of his mind ceased.

_Take the sword._

“I’ll take the sword,” Merlin said. The words felt cottony in his mouth.

“Merlin, are you sure?” Gwen said, bewildered. “There’s bound to be someone who would loan Arthur a sword.”

_No, this will do._

“No, this will do,” Merlin parroted. He plucked the sword from Gwen’s father’s hands. “Thank you.”

_I’ll just give it a quick polish._

“I’ll just give it a quick polish,” he said. He wasn’t even seeing them, not really.

The smith looked at Merlin, then at his daughter. “All right…”

Merlin spun on his heel and marched away. He held the sword in both hands, lying flat in his palms. The people pushing past him made rude remarks that he did not hear. His world was a blur of color. All of his thoughts were static fuzz.

His feet took him away from the tournament, up a familiar street, under a Keep Out sign, and down dark stairs. He did not need the light of his magic. He could not have called it anyways.

Down, down, down. The air grew cooler and Merlin did not shiver.

The dragon was waiting at the edge of the tracks, crouching as close to the AM metal as it could get. Its yellow eyes gleamed.

Merlin halted just before crossing the tracks. The dragon purred.

“Hold up the blade, Merlin,” it said.

Merlin gripped it by the hilt and raised it high over his head.

Kilgharrah coughed, maw stretched wide. Sparks appeared in the back of its throat. Then the dragon pulled back its neck.

Flames roared from its mouth, a thousand colors spitting out. They rushed over Merlin’s head and completely encased the blade. The heat was intense, but Merlin did not shy away. His glassy eyes reflected the bright glow of the fire. His arm stayed still.

The flames petered out. The metal of the blade glowed red hot, even after Merlin lowered his arm.

“Now,” the dragon growled, its eyes alight, “cut my binds.”

The blade clanged when Merlin hacked into the metal tracks. The force of it made his arm shake. The sword cut the rails like butter, still hot from the dragon’s breath.

Merlin picked up the broken bits of track and heaved them away. They cooked his flesh, but he did not notice. He had to make a space big enough for Kilgharrah to walk through. Once enough of the metal was clear, Merlin walked up to the dragon. Had he been sentient, he could have touched its cracked scales.

He swung the sword at the anti-magic cuff around the dragon’s ankle, and it broke in one go. Merlin walked around Kilgharrah and struck all the cuffs from its feet. The flesh where they had been was void of scales, and skinless flesh glistened in the din.

Kilgharrah flexed its claws and let out a low, rumbling groan. It thumped its tail and shook its head. Its eyes turned from yellow to gold.

“Thank you, little Dragonlord,” the dragon said, and it chuckled. “I’m so _very_ hungry.” It turned its gaze to Merlin. “I can’t eat you, of course. That would break the Covenant. But the mortals…” Again, it chuckled.

Merlin stood there, sword in hand. His eyes had a milky film over them. His heartbeat filled his head, slow and steady. Beside him, Kilgharrah was spreading its wings. The roof of the cavern was crumbling under the dragon’s golden gaze. Sunlight was starting to bleed in. And Merlin just stood there, unaware.

“Run away, little Dragonlord!” Kilgharrah shouted. “Get yourself to your prince.”

Only then did Merlin move.


	13. The Druid King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Druids mostly speak French, in case anyone was wondering. Using my meager French learnings and WordReference.com I have written their words. Also, if anyone's interested, I use this translator for the Druid spells. http://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/

_Only the Dragonlord bloodline can control dragons. Others have tried to learn, but to no avail. It is uncertain where this ability comes from._

* * *

 

_…lin._

_…are you doing?_

_Merlin!_

“Merlin!”

A hand latched onto Merlin’s bicep and yanked. Now he was on the ground, looking up at the sky. He could smell fire in the air and taste it on his tongue. Screams filled his ears and he could feel the tremor of panicking footfalls in his bones. His lungs burned and he coughed.

Suddenly a face obscured his vision. “Merlin, what is the matter with you!?” it screamed. “Get up, get _up!_ Why are you just lying there?”

Merlin recognized the face. “Morgana?”

“Oh god,” Morgana said. She cupped his face. “Merlin, please get up.” She looked up. “Arthur! Arthur he’s here.”

“What—?” Merlin started, but there was the sound of metal scraping on concrete and Arthur was there, leaning over him.

“I pulled him down when I fell,” Morgana was saying. “He was just standing there.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. Briefly the prince’s face went dark as a halo of fire burst in the sky behind him. “Now is not the time to be… whatever it is you’ve been! We need to get out of here.”

Merlin just stared. He was not really thinking about anything except the orange tinge the sky had taken on.

The world spun and then stopped, and Merlin was on his feet. Leather-clad hands supported him.

“What is that?” Merlin heard, but did not see.

“He was holding it when he fell.”

A lot of spinning later, Merlin found himself in a chair. A sword clattered on the table in front of him. Morgana looked at him worriedly before turning to Arthur.

“Is this an attack from the Druids?” she asked. Merlin could see her sleeve was ripped and a bloody scrape was drying on her arm.

“It has to be,” Arthur answered. He was leaning on the table, his eyes focused on the sword. “And it has to be Balinor. Only the royal family can control dragons.”

Morgana pursed her lips. “Arthur this isn’t like other dragon attacks,” she blurted. When Arthur was silent, she continued. “The Druids don’t use the dragons to do their dirty work. Dragons are too proud. And when dragons fight, there’s usually a lot of them. This… this is one dragon.”

“A big dragon.”

“I think it’s rogue,” she said simply.

Arthur snorted.

Morgana fixed him with a hard stare. “We don’t even know where it came from!” she snapped. “No one saw it coming! And _a big dragon_ would be hard to miss.”

For a long while, they sat in silence. Faintly, Merlin heard wails and something very large falling.

“Then what do you think we should do.” Arthur kept his voice low and his eyes on the sword.

Morgana said, “Find a Dragonlord.”

Silence stretched between them. Another scream sounded, and Arthur closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said. Then he looked at Morgana. “I’m worried about Merlin,” he murmured.

Merlin thought he was not meant to hear that.

Morgana’s eyes flicked to him. Something in her face changed. “Maybe he’s enchanted,” she whispered.

Merlin watched them both crumple. Their expressions became sad. Arthur sat down and touched Merlin’s hand. “Where did you get this sword, Merlin?”

For a moment, Merlin was silent. “It’s your sword,” he said. “I forged it for you.”

“Forged it?” Arthur asked. His voice was gentle. “Where?”

“Down… down the stairs…” The words were a mumble. “I went… down the stairs…”

“Arthur, we don’t have time,” said Morgana. She touched her brother’s shoulder. “Take him with you. You know where Balinor is. Head into the Druid Kingdom and plead for his help.”

“Father will never allow it.”

“That’s why you have to go.” Morgana glanced at Merlin. “You can protect him. I’ll find Uther and get everyone into the citadel, okay?”

Arthur stood up. “Get as many people underground as you can. Good luck.”

“You too.”

“And please… please find Guinevere.”

Morgana nodded. She kissed Arthur on the cheek and rushed out. Merlin heard a door slam.

“Get up, Merlin,” said Arthur.

Merlin stood.

Arthur took the sword and slid it into the scabbard on his belt. “I want you to stay in front of me,” he began. “Do everything I say. Don’t run off. Don’t get any heroic ideas. We’re jumping in the first car we find and we’re going to the Druid Kingdom.”

“Yes sire.”

Arthur scowled. He strode around the table and steered Merlin roughly by the shoulder. “And don’t call me that,” he hissed.

They went through several doors, the screams growing louder with each one. Finally they emerged outside, and were hit with the scent of burning wood. Immediately, they both coughed in the thick, smoky air. Merlin’s eyes watered.

“Come on!” Arthur yelled, and he pushed Merlin ahead.

Cars were abandoned in the street at odd angles impossible to navigate. Arthur looked at the vehicles with increasing frustration. When he finally found one they could move, the door was locked.

“Oh for Avalon’s sake,” he growled, and he pulled out his sword and slammed the hilt into the window.

Arthur threw Merlin unceremoniously into the passenger’s seat from the driver’s side, pushing him over a parking break in the process. He dusted glass off the other seat and got in after him. When he saw the keys in the ignition, he raised his eyes to the heavens and seemed to thank the gods.

The car started with a purr. The radio started with blaring guitars, making Arthur swear and turn it off. He buckled Merlin’s seatbelt, then his own. Then he jammed the parking brake off and whipped the car around. Most of the fleeing Camelotians had already cleared this area. Very few people got in their way, and those that did jumped aside when Arthur pounded the horn.

For awhile, they drove in silence. The border was an hour’s walk from the citadel through the woods. The road route typically took over a half hour, but the streets were mostly clear and Arthur had a lead foot on the gas. Merlin watched the trees zip by.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, breaking the silence, “please, _please_ tell me what’s wrong.”

Merlin looked at Arthur until the prince glanced over at him. Arthur face twisted with worry. “You haven’t made any jokes, you haven’t started any conversations—normally I can’t get you to shut up! You haven’t _been_ Merlin!”

Merlin had nothing to say. So he listened.

Arthur looked at him again and slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Stop that! Stop being such a servant!” Once more, he looked at him, and his anger dissipated. Arthur relapsed into silence and urged the car go faster.

* * *

 

Arthur expected something to happen when they crossed the border into Druid lands—a bump, maybe, or the engine exploding in a fiery cloud—but no, nothing happened. The border station was totally empty and Arthur drove right through that wooden gate without a hitch.

The road switched smoothly from paved asphalt to hard-packed dirt. The tires bumped on the less-even surface. Arthur slowed down.

After ten minutes of driving without seeing any signs or turns, Arthur started to get worried. He didn’t actually know how to get to the _Palais Rouge_ and the last thing he needed to be right now was lost in Druid territory.

There was something in the road. Arthur squinted.

He barely slammed on the brakes in time. The car screeched and slid in the dirt, fishtailing. Arthur pumped the brakes, desperate to stop. He lost control of the wheel. They were veering into the trees.

The car finally slowed about ten yards from the road. Arthur regained control and stopped it. Trees had taken off both side mirrors and one was currently blocking his door. In front of them was a thicket of bushes and a large oak that would have split the car in two.

Arthur heart was thrumming in his ears. It’s fine, he told himself. We didn’t hit them. He pried his fingers from the steering wheels and took deep breaths. He looked at Merlin and saw he wore the same dead, blank expression.

There was a click behind his ear, and Arthur suddenly knew why someone had been lying in the middle of the road.

“ _Bonjour, mon cher._ My, didn’t you get lucky,” a woman said. “Hands up.”

Arthur lifted his arms.

“Ooh, shiny knight,” she noted. “Out of the car, _cher._ ”

Merlin’s door opened and he was pulled out. Arthur scooted over and came out with his hands up.

The woman came around the car, her gun still on Arthur. She had a playful half-smile on her lips and a swagger in her step. Her tank top was tight and black, and her blonde hair fell in a messy braid over her shoulder. The man holding Merlin was older, with sandy blond hair and a long brown coat. He had a sword on his hip and a gun in his hand.

Bandits.

“Hands up, boy,” the man said, prodding Merlin with his gun.

Merlin just blinked.

“Merlin, put your hands up,” Arthur said.

Merlin obeyed.

The man frowned. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Um, he’s… simple,” Arthur decided. “Very simple. Complete idiot.”

The man glanced at Merlin and said, “Ah.”

The bushes rustled and more bandits came out of the woods. Arthur tried not to think about how royally fucked they were.

“ _Fouillez la voiture,_ ” the woman said. She reached down and Arthur felt her pull his sword from its sheath. She placed the blade over his chest, not at his throat, but close enough. “So,” she said, “what’re you doing with a car in the Druid Kingdom? Knight of Camelot like yourself?”

“I have to see King Balinor.”

The woman chuckled. “Well you’re not seeing him anytime soon,” she promised.

“You don’t understand,” Arthur said. “I was sent by King Uther to plead aid from the Druid king. A dragon is attacking Camelot.”

The man _tsk_ ed. “Doubt the king would want to help you with that.”

“There aren’t exactly a lot of other options,” Arthur told them. He tried not to sound frustrated.

“Besides, people like us can’t just waltz into the _Palais Rouge,_ ” the woman said. “ _Qu’est-ce que tu trouves?_ ” she called.

“Some mortal currency and an iPod,” one of the men searching the car replied. He had a very thick French accent.

The woman smiled. “We’ll keep those and sell his armor. It’ll fetch a nice price.” To Arthur, she said, “Take it off.”

Arthur said, “Please, if you take us to King Balinor, I will see that you are not charged for your crimes. And you will be paid. Very well.”

“I doubt it,” the man said.

“If you don’t take us to Balinor hundreds will die!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Like we care?” The man patted Merlin on the head. “Mortals are barely any brighter than this one here.”

 “Tristan,” the woman said sharply. The man’s cajoling grin vanished. The sword dropped from Arthur’s throat and the woman stepped around to face him. She had lowered her gun, but she kept the sword tip up. “Is there a Druid controlling the dragon?” she demanded.

“We think it’s rogue,” Arthur said. The sword wavered a little. He jumped on her sympathy. “It’s the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen.”

“Seen a lot then?” Tristan called.

“Shut up,” the woman said.

“Isolde, you can’t be falling for this—.”

Isolde turned and looked at Tristan. His words died in his throat, but he continued to scowl. She looked back to Arthur and said, “Keep talking.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t the only choice.”

“And Uther sent you, did he?”

“No, no, he didn’t. I lied. My f—Uther is too proud to seek Druid help. So I came instead. Prince Arthur sent me.”

Isolde cocked her head, her mouth slightly open. “And what’s he doing with you?” She jerked her head at Merlin.

“He’s my squire and I’m protecting him,” Arthur said instantly.

Isolde looked at Merlin, who, predictably, did nothing. “He seems like a bit of a burden.”

“He stays with me.” On this, Arthur was resolute.

For a moment, Isolde was silent. Then she put  her gun in its holster and lowered Arthur’s sword. “Tristan, get the horses.”

“What?”

“We’re going to the _Palais Rouge._ ”

“We’ll be arrested on sight!”

Isolde marched up to him and did not stop until she was an inch away from his face. “Are you really going to let hundreds of people die because you don’t want to be _arrested?_ ”

Tristan leaned away from her but did not break eye contact. Finally, he turned his head. “Men!” he called. “ _Nous apportons les mortels au palais._ _Nous nous recontrons en…_ three days? Eh? _Trois jours?_ ” He held up three fingers. “ _À la cabane. Oui?_ ”

“ _Oui monsieur!_ ” two of the men called. The rest simply nodded.

Tristan turned to Isolde. “Happy?” he said.

Isolde smiled. “Very,” she said. She pressed a kiss to his lips, which quickly grew into something with tongue. Arthur looked away, embarrassed. “Now get the ponies, my love.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Tristan replied. He whistled sharply and disappeared into the trees.

“I assume you can ride, sir knight?” Isolde asked. She said “sir knight” like an insult.

“Yes, of course.” Arthur bristled.

“And what about your idiot?”

Arthur looked at Merlin. His friend still had his hands in the air, his expression completely void. He had never seen him like this. Whatever drugs he was on, he seemed to have upped the dose. “He’ll ride with me,” he decided.

Arthur heard a whinny, and Tristan reappeared with four horses in tow. “Ready?”

Isolde walked up to a dark chestnut mare and mounted her easily. “Help _le débile_ onto a horse,” she said.

Tristan strode over to Merlin. He forced Merlin’s arms down with a roll of his eyes, gripped him firmly by the waist, and lifted him onto the speckled white mare. Arthur mounted behind him.

“Is he catatonic?” Tristan asked, and this time he looked genuinely concerned.

Arthur pressed his lips together and said nothing, only grabbed the reins.

Tristan mounted a horse the same color as his coat and kicked it into a gallop. Arthur and Isolde followed.

“Are we close to the palace?” Arthur asked, keeping pace with Isolde. Merlin bounced limply in front of him.

“Yes,” Isolde replied. “But not by road. The palace is designed to be hard to find. You need magic to get there.” She smiled. “So lucky you found us.”

“You have magic?” Arthur wondered. “But you use mortal weapons.”

“Tristan does,” Isolde told him. “Not much, but enough. We need the extra help from mortal weapons. Besides,” she gave him a sly grin, “guns are incredibly sexy.”

Arthur blushed, but his discomfort vanished when Merlin’s head flopped back and cracked him on the forehead.

Tristan veered his steed left, then right, then pulled up on the reins. For a few long minutes, they stood absolutely still. Tristan looked this way and that. He put out his hand, palm towards the ground, and moved it around like a compass needle. Then he clicked his tongue and urged his horse on at a walk.

“Can’t we go any faster?” said Arthur.

“Sh.” Isolde held out her hand to quiet him. Her eyes were fixed on Tristan. Arthur followed her gaze. Tristan was straight-backed, head tilted a little towards the treetops. He kept his hand out in front of him. When his arm pulled to one side or the other, they followed until it was straight ahead of them again.

Slowly they came to a stop. Arthur’s horse dropped its head to nibble at the underbrush. Tristan’s arm was rigid, feeling around, searching.

A hush fell over the woods. The only thing Arthur could hear Tristan whispering magical words, becoming more aware of them until they seemed to fill the whole forest. The trees seemed to be bending inwards. Abruptly Merlin looked around, as if he noticed something too.

Then there was silence.

Arthur was afraid to breathe. He kept his eyes on Tristan, unblinking, both terrified and in awe.

“Gotcha,” Tristan whispered, and that was what broke the quiet. The noise of the forest came rushing back, too loud. Tristan kicked his horse into a gallop. Isolde’s reared with a whinny and charged after him. Arthur was slow to react and barely kept up.

The trees thinned as they galloped. Dead leaves turned to grass and the skittering of horse’s hooves became a pound. They emerged from the woods, and before them was a great open field, and there was the palace.

The _Palais Rouge_ was smaller than Arthur expected. There were only two turrets, and they had no roofs. The brick was chalky and almost orange. Behind it was the Druid capital, made from much of the same stone. There was a lot of activity outside the palace. No walls shielded the yard. Arthur could see some servants tending the garden, some with magic and some by hand. Two guards stood a ways away from the palace doors, wearing bronze Druid armor and masks.

They galloped up to the guards. Arthur wanted to charge right through, but Tristan halted his horse so suddenly that he had to stop. The guards watched them.

“We need to see King Balinor,” Tristan declared.

“He has been informed of your approach,” one of the guards assured them. “But we cannot let you pass.”

“Well is he coming?” Isolde demanded.

“No.”

“I need to speak with him!” Arthur exclaimed. His horse stamped at the ground. “Tell him I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, and I come to beg his aid. A rogue dragon is attacking Camelot. We need his help.”

The guards exchanged a look. “We will tell him.”

Arthur’s eyes widened when they continued to stand there. “Go and tell him then!”

One of the guards gave him a weird look.

Tristan pulled his horse around to face Arthur. “You’re the prince of Camelot?” he demanded.

Arthur had not wanted them to know that. He swallowed and said, “I am.”

Tristan swore loudly and looked at Isolde. “We just showed the prince of Camelot where the _palais_ is. Now we’re traitors to the crown!”

“Calm down,” Isolde said.

“Calm _down!?_ Isolde, as much as I love a dramatic death, I hardly think our lives are worth the ruddy _prince_ of _Camelot!_ ”

“King Balinor is coming,” one of the guards said, and then the king stepped between them.

Arthur often forgot Druids had magic, and that they could appear anywhere they liked. Balinor’s arrival made him jump.

He had not seen him since the incident with the Anglicans, which really was only a few weeks ago. But the king had changed much in that time. He looked older, with more lines on his faces and more grey in his hair.

King Balinor looked at them. His expression was unreadable. “Let them inside,” he ordered.

“ _Seigneur?_ ”

“Let them in!”

The guards blinked but hastened to obey. They moved their arms in synchronization, and their eyes flashed gold. Then they bowed. Tristan, Isolde, and Arthur trotted right between them.

“Prince Arthur, what is wrong with M—your manservant?” Balinor demanded, and there was worry etched in his face.

Arthur grimaced as Merlin leaned against him limply. “We don’t know,” he said. Panic rose in his throat. “King Balinor, please, come back with me to Camelot. Save us from the dragon.”

“Something is very, very wrong with your boy, Prince Arthur,” Balinor told him gravely. “I must look at him.”

Arthur felt little relief at that. He shuddered and forced them back on topic. “Will you help us with the dragon?”

Balinor had his hand on Merlin’s arm, walking briskly to keep up with the horse. “What? Yes, yes, of course. But I must help him first, please.”

Arthur looked at Merlin. “You’re sure you can?”

Balinor gave him a most terrified look. “No,” he said.

* * *

Merlin felt himself be removed from the horse and set on a chair. Or maybe he was lifted from a chair and onto a horse. He still felt like he was bouncing along. He could hear the pounding of hooves in his ears, like the beating of his heart.

Someone had their hands on his shoulders. Cupped his chin. Grabbed his arms. He could see them, kneeling in front of him, a blur of color. Maybe those spots were eyes. Maybe nostrils. Maybe he wasn’t seeing a face at all.

He felt something touch his forehead, and it was like an electric shock went through him. It hurt his heart. He yelped and clutched his chest, doubling over.

The world came into focus, too fast. He felt sick and vomited.

“Merlin? Merlin, are you all right?”

Gentle hands cupped his face and lifted his head.

“Father?” he whispered.

Balinor turned his head and said to someone else, “He’s hallucinating. Delta, fetch us some water and red root.” He turned back to Merlin and smiled. “What’s happened to you, dear boy?”

Merlin swallowed. Fear rose in his throat like bile, and he felt very, very small. “Father I’m so sorry,” he gasped, and there were tears pouring down his face. “I’ve done a terrible thing. I should have listened. I’m so sorry.” He clutched at his heart, because it burned, and covered his face shamefully with his other hand.

“What’s he talking about?” someone asked. Their voice was familiar too.

“I don’t know,” Balinor said. “He keeps grabbing at his chest.” He stood. “Take off his shirt.”

* * *

 

“What!?” Arthur snapped. He was holding the bucket containing Merlin’s sick, as Balinor had somehow known he would throw up and ordered him to be bucket-holder.

“He keeps grabbing at his chest,” the Druid king repeated. “If he’s enchanted, that may be where the spell is.” Balinor pulled Merlin’s arms from his body.

Arthur set his bucket down and stepped behind Merlin to lift his friend’s shirt over his head. Balinor gasped.

“What is it?” Arthur demanded.

“Come look,” the king said. Arthur came and crouched beside him. And he almost threw up.

A silver chain was around Merlin’s neck, and the skin around it was scabbed and burnt. The chain stuck to his skin the closer it was to his heart. And at the base, the amulet had melted itself into Merlin’s chest. The skin was starting to heal over it.

“Oh my god,” Arthur breathed. “What is that?”

Balinor started rolling up his sleeves. “I warn you,” he said, “this could get ugly.” Then he gripped Merlin’s shoulder with one hand and forced the other into his chest.


	14. The Dragonlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We face the Great Dragon, and Merlin's dark destiny is revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was awful it was so bad good lord and then when I uploaded it it was all italicized like why why would you do that

_From_  Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed,_

_Immortality was never something the Druids sought after, unlike their Chinese counterparts. In fact, the Druids feared such a fate and viewed it a curse._

* * *

 

Merlin tried to swallow. His mouth tasted of sand. Very carefully, he lifted his head. It was heavy and pounding, like there was something in his skull trying to get out.

He had not felt this awful since Gaius had given him that pill.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but he could hear voices. Familiar voices.

Voices he _definitely_ should not be hearing in the mortal kingdom.

Merlin forced his eyes open.

He was in the infirmary of the _Palais Rouge._ One of the healers—Delta, he knew her—was standing over him. Her hands were aglow with the green light of medicinal magic, and her eyes were golden.

Gingerly, he lifted his hand to his face. He was not hooded. So right now, he was Merlin.

Delta noticed him move and smiled, but she did not stop. “Good morning, child,” she greeted, her accent thick and French. “’ow are you feeling?”

Merlin wet his dry lips. “Fine,” he croaked. “Water?”

Delta jerked her head to the stand beside the bed. Merlin looked over and saw a small, tin cup. He reached for it slowly, and the stretch was painful, but he grabbed it and brought it to his lips.

When he had sipped it dry, he said, “Where is Arthur?”

“Your prince?” said Delta. “’e left with _seigneur._ There is _un dragon_ in Camelot.”

Merlin snapped out of his exhaustion. “Dragon?” he said. His heart leapt to his throat.

Delta, of course, noticed. “Calm down, child,” she snapped. She placed a hand on his forehead, but he smacked her away.

“I need to go,” he said, and he started to get up.

“Child, I ‘ave not finished!” she exclaimed, and she forced him down by his shoulders. Merlin, once again, pushed her off and managed to sit up.

The motion made Merlin woozy, but he grit his teeth until it passed. He saw his shirt sitting on a chair and pulled it over his head. When he did, he glimpsed the horror of his torso. It only made him hesitate for a moment before he remembered Arthur and the dragon, and he pushed himself to his feet.

Delta stood in his way. He was much taller than her, even slouching in pain like he was, but she had a vicious scowl straight out of his childhood. Her accent grew thicker with her rage. “Child, I ‘ave orders _deerectly_ from ze keeng to _not_ let you leave zees bed!”

Merlin straightened up slowly due to the pain in his chest, but he rose to his full height and look down into her eyes.

“And now you have orders directly from the prince,” he murmured, “to let me pass.”

The comment threw Delta enough that he was able to push past her. The moment he was in the hallway, he tried a teleporting spell, aiming for the palace courtyard. He reappeared only a few feet away, stumbling and coughing and nauseous. His chest ached.

“Child!” Delta called, hurrying after him. “Do not go! You are very sick! It is very dangerous to go. Stay here!”

Merlin pushed Delta’s hands off of him, swallowing down his nausea. He had to get to Camelot. Arthur needed him. Morgana needed him. His father needed him. And no matter how much it hurt, or how sick he felt, Merlin knew—he would survive it.

He took four deep breaths. One, and the spots faded from his vision. Two, and he got to his feet. Three, and he called up all his magic, all his power. Four, and he disappeared.

Merlin landed in the courtyard, right before the invisible border. He sucked in the warm air, muggy and hot with the setting sun, and it did him no favors. Once he crossed the border, he straightened, clenched his fists, and vanished again.

He fell onto the forest floor, his head ringing with the AM border only a few feet from him. Shakily he clambered to his feet and staggered over the line. His eyes flashed gold and he disappeared before he could fall again.

Merlin heard glass breaking and looked up to realize he was on Gaius’s kitchen table, and darkness was settling around him. He gingerly pushed himself up, knocking another glass to the floor as he did so. He slid off the table. It was rather quiet. Merlin wondered if throwing up in the sink would make him feel any better.

Slowly, Merlin crept through the house and opened the front door. Down the street, towards the town, Merlin could see fires burning. He looked up the street, towards the castle, and saw darkness.

He had to find his father. If he found Balinor, he would find Arthur and the dragon. Merlin swallowed and closed the door. Better to do this privately. The last thing he needed was the neighbors seeing him do magic.

Carefully, Merlin breathed and closed his eyes. He sent out his magic, felt it crawling from his fingertips and spreading through the earth. He knew his father’s magic better than anyone—he should find him easily.

Not to mention the dragon. Certainly it would have a huge magical presence.

Merlin pushed his little golden threads of magic further, searching desperately for Balinor’s scent. They had to be close, they had to—

 _There._ Merlin did not hesitate. The moment he locked on to his father’s power, he murmured, “ _Áslúpan,_ _”_ and vanished again.

Merlin crashed through several pine branches before landing flat on his stomach. He spat out pine needles and dead leaves and groaned with pain.

“Did you hear that?”

Arthur. Merlin pictured him with his sword at the ready, peering through the trees. He forced himself to his feet and scrambled towards the voice, slipping on dead leaves as he did.

Merlin tumbled out of the trees only to find Arthur’s sword at his throat.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, and he dropped his sword. “What—? How did you find us?”

Merlin blinked. Um. “I followed you,” he said, which was true, he supposed.

Arthur stared at him. “We used magic to get here.”

“So did I!” Merlin could see Balinor’s face go white. “The nurse Druid took me.”

Arthur turned to Balinor. “He was supposed to stay there and get better!”

“I cannot be blamed for the stubbornness of your servants.” Balinor looked at Merlin like he wanted to kill him but couldn’t at the moment. “But you are already here,” he said to him. “You’ll be safer with us.”

Merlin got to his feet and offered them a smile. Arthur did not conceal his worry well. Balinor looked fed up. “Going to slay a dragon then?” he said giddily. “Sounds like fu—.” A wave of nausea overcame him and he doubled over, retching.

Arthur clapped him mercilessly on the back. “Good to see you’re back, Merlin.”

As the mortal prince walked away, Balinor placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Are you all right, son?” he whispered.

“No,” Merlin breathed.

“Next time, don’t set the dragon loose.”

Merlin smiled at his father’s joking tone. For the first time, he noticed his father had his staff. It was different from Merlin’s, carved from a paper-grey wood with its stone glowing a soft yellow. “Next time,” Merlin said, “I’ll know how to deal with it.” He lifted his head, hopeful.

Balinor gave him a smirk. “Exactly. Dragonlord training starts now. First thing to know, my boy, is you and the dragon are kin. When you speak to it as a brother, it must obey you.”

A low growl rumbled through the trees, making the three men tense. Arthur, farther up, held his sword in his hand, his posture falling into that practiced stance of a knight. Balinor and Merlin quietly caught up with him, eyes scanning the trees for the beast they knew was lurking there.

Arthur looked to Balinor. Balinor stepped forward, leaning, listening.

“The dragon is close,” the Druid king murmured. “It can tell we are here.”

“It can sense us?” Arthur exclaimed in a whisper. “Why doesn’t it flee?”

“Dragons have a lot of pride,” Balinor said. “Plus, it thinks it can win. It doesn’t know I’m here.” He gestured with his staff. “Let’s go.”

They crept through the trees, the air growing darker with the setting sun. The smell of smoke was all around them, carried on the wind from the burning city. Merlin’s heart pounded in his ears. Time to face the dragon. Time to be a Dragonlord.

“I know you’re there, young Dragonlord.”

The voice startled all of them. Arthur tensed with fear, making his armor creak.

Merlin peered through the trees. Barely, he could see the beast, a huge black mass behind the tree trunks. He could hear the soft rumble of its breathing and, if he listened, he could feel the pulse of its magic.

Someone placed a hand on his chest. Merlin looked up. “Stay here,” Arthur said. “I’d hate to have to find a new servant.”

Merlin scowled and looked at his father. Balinor rolled his eyes.

Suddenly Balinor’s eyes widened, and he jumped on them.

A rush of heat came over them, and Merlin saw the fire over his father’s shoulder, setting the treetops aflame.

When the dragon’s fire subsided, Balinor pulled up, his arm over his head to protect himself from embers from above. “Go! Go!” he shouted.

Arthur scrambled to his feet, pushing Merlin in front of him. Merlin ran with him. He knew his father was fine.

 _“Drakon!_ _”_ he heard Balinor shout. Merlin could see in the light of the fiery trees the Druid king walking forward. His staff jewel glowed red, and he held both arms forward like the prophet Moses parting the Red Sea. _“Non didlkai! Kari miss, epsipass immalla krat!_ _”_

The Great Dragon reared with a mighty roar, its front legs pawing like a startled horse. Its wings began to beat, and the wind was so strong Merlin felt it pushing them back. He shielded his eyes from the leaves blowing at them, and saw the dragon’s feet lift off the ground.

Balinor lifted his staff higher. _“Katostar abore ceriss!_ _”_

Kilgharrah screamed. It dropped back to the ground so hard the earth shook. The monster’s howling filled the forest as it swung its head back and forth, fighting the Dragonlord’s hold.

“Arthur!” Balinor cried. “I have it! Stab it through the heart!”

Arthur pushed Merlin out of his way and charged forward. Merlin felt fear grip him as he watched. “ _Áscildan,_ ” he yelled, even though he knew the spell would be weak. And as he felt his magic rip from him and hurtle after Arthur, Merlin knew it would not be enough to protect him.

Kilgharrah swung its tail wildly. Arthur ducked and slashed at the dragon’s side. The beast screamed, and its tail caught Arthur on the backswing. Merlin felt his protective spell shatter with the force of the blow and Arthur flew headlong into a tree.

“Arthur!” Merlin cried. He leapt out of the bushes, pushing through the black spots in his vision, and raced to where his friend had fallen.

The spell had held better than Merlin expected. Arthur was merely unconscious, with a large bump swelling on his forehead.

Merlin breathed easier. And, with Arthur out, he was free to help his father.

He scooped up Arthur’s sword and appeared at his father’s side.

“Emrys!” Balinor yelled. He was dripping sweat and the hand gripping his staff was shaking. “Is Arthur alive?”

“He’s fine!” Merlin said. He grinned. “I’m here to help you.”

Balinor grit his teeth. “A binding spell, Emrys, concentrated on its wings!”

Merlin held his hand up and walked closer to the dragon. “ _Gebind!"_ he shouted, ignoring the way it made his head spin and his stomach lurch.

The dragon’s wings folded against its body as if something were forcing them down. Kilgharrah’s head stilled, and it peered at Merlin with eyes that shone with firelight. “Young warlock,” it greeted.

Merlin looked up at it, keeping his hand up in the air so the spell stayed strong. “I’ve come to slay you, Great Dragon.” He barely stayed upright as he spoke. He legs felt weak and his head spun. Despite the heat of the fire, he felt a chill.

“It would be unwise to kill me, Emrys.” The dragon looked downright gleeful. “I know much about your destiny.”

“I don’t want to know it.”

The dragon narrowed its eyes. For a long moment, there was silence, save for the burning trees. When Kilgharrah spoke again, its voice echoed all around them, and its eyes had changed to silver.

_“Two sides of the same coin_

_One in shadow, one in light._ _”_

Merlin’s blood ran cold. He glanced back at his father. They both knew what this was—the Great Dragon was delivering a Call. Every person of magical blood received one. But Merlin had heard his already. The last thing he needed now was those chilling words repeated to him.  

_“Yours will be the greatest tale,_

_They’ll never tell your side._ _”_

“Father, help!” Merlin pleaded.

_“Your path is hard and cruel and long,_

_So tread with care, or else become_ _.”_

Merlin turned back to the dragon. “Stop! Stop! _Álynian! Blódseten!_ _”_

 _“A killer of kings_ _, a blackened soul,_

 _With nowhere left to run_ _.”_

The dragon’s wings began to push back against Merlin’s magic, and it pulled its head back.

_“Bound to the land, when all time ends,_

_You will stand alone_

_With the curse borne in your heart,_

_And skin and blood and bone._ _”_

Finally, the dragon’s eyes faded back to yellow. “Time to further your destiny, young warlock.”

“Emrys!” Balinor hollered. “Kill it! Find it in yourself, my son.”

The dragon roared and flames spewed from its maw. Merlin leapt to the side, and as he rolled the sword flew from his grip. He felt the heat of fire above him and with horror realized where the flames must have hit.

Merlin turned his head and saw his father with one hand shielding him, the flames pressing against his magic. He could see his father’s brown eyes glowing gold as he struggled to hold the dragon and its fire. “Emrys, now!” he ordered.

Merlin scrambled to his feet and ran to where the sword had slid. He scooped it up and held it strong, and with a mighty yell he charged.

Balinor’s hold abruptly broke and the Great Dragon bounded forward. The Druid king fell back under the power of the flames and the dragon came down on him with its claws.

“How mighty I will be,” the monster cried, its gnashing teeth inches from Balinor, “when I have killed all the Dragonlords. When I have liberated the dragons!” Then it pulled its head back like a snake rearing to strike.

A cold fear took Merlin over completely, and a word he did not know was wrenched from his throat. He felt the power in it, felt the magic of it explode out of him. Kilgharrah was hit by it. It knocked the beast sideways and with a wail it fell over.

Merlin ran at it, holding Arthur’s sword straight out. The dragon writhed on the ground, trying to stand back up. Merlin could see the fear in its eyes.

Another word, a stronger spell, was pulled from his chest, from deep within him. The dragon stopped squirming. It relaxed and stretched out its neck, exposing it for him.

“Have mercy,” the Great Dragon whispered. Its voice was small and quiet, and Merlin stood over it with the sword lying on its neck. “Please, Lord Emrys, have mercy.”

Merlin heard coughing. He glanced back and saw Balinor, saw blood.

“We are kin, Lord Emrys, we are kin!”

“You would have killed me,” Merlin murmured, his eyes still on the Druid king. He felt a burning behind his eyes, different from the magical warmth he was used to. “You would have killed my father.”

The Great Dragon did not reply. Its breathing only quickened with fear.

Merlin looked back at Kilgharrah and saw only his father, bleeding, dying. “Heal him,” he said.

The Great Dragon paused. “I cannot,” it said.

“YOU WILL.” His words roared like a king’s.  

The dragon flinched. “No dragon can use healing magic, my lord, it is not in our nature.”

Merlin hissed in fury and lifted the sword. The dragon tensed and its eyes closed. Without warning Merlin plunged the blade into Kilgharrah’s leg.

The Great Dragon let out a wail of pain. Merlin screamed with it, trying to drown out his fear. Abruptly he yanked the sword from the dragon’s flesh. “Leave!” he commanded. “Never return. And if you ever hurt anyone again… I _will_ kill you.”

Kilgharrah wriggled to its feet and bowed its head. It took a running start and took off into the night, lit up by the burning treetops until it vanished into the dark.

The fire was spreading, but Merlin did not care. He dropped Arthur’s sword and rushed to his father’s side, kneeling by him and gripping his hand. The blood was still welling, bubbling up from the wound in his stomach. Merlin felt chillingly calm, as if everything, even his heart, was frozen.

 _“Háligan,_ _”_   Merlin said softly, and he moved his other hand over his father’s wound. The wound stopped bubbling, but he knew it would do little to help.

Balinor did not move.

“Merlin!” cried Arthur. Merlin’s sobs caught in his throat. Arthur was awake. He couldn’t see Merlin like this. It could give away everything. Painfully, he choked them back and wiped his cheeks and nose with his bare hand. He could hear Arthur’s armor squeaking as the mortal prince drew near. “The dragon,” he demanded, “where is it? What happened?”

Merlin took a deep breath. “You dealt it a mortal blow,” he said, and he could not keep the tremble from his voice. “You… you saved Camelot.” He ducked his head, and his grip tightened on his father’s arm. His magic felt wrong, but Merlin could not risk it. He reached within himself and brought up the last wispy tendrils of his power, and willed it all into his father.

Arthur dropped to his knees on Balinor’s other side. Merlin could not look at him. He feared his eyes would give him away. “Merlin?” A pause. “Are you hurt?”

 _My heart and soul are breaking,_ he wanted to scream as he clutched his father’s hand. He kept his eyes closed tight, knowing they were glowing golden as his magic poured out of him. _I’m only delaying it. I can’t do enough. I can’t save him._

“Hello?”

Merlin glanced up. Arthur had his cell phone to his ear. “This is Arthur Pendragon, prince regent of Camelot. I need medical assistance and firefighters in the King’s Forest off of West Sussex. And I need it now.” Then Arthur reached across Balinor, and Merlin felt his hand on his shoulder. “He will live, Merlin,” he murmured. “I swear it.”

Those words broke Merlin’s crumbling wall. He let out a loud, agonized sob and brought Balinor’s hand to his forehead, gripping it with all the life he had in him.

His magic resisted the pull, but Balinor’s drank it up greedily. Merlin gave all he could. His head was getting lighter. It was dangerous to pour this much into someone—dangerous for Merlin. His heart started pumping faster, like a panicked bird fighting to stay airborne. His breathing was getting quicker. Fear crept in and he needed to let go, he _had_ to let go, but he didn’t. He kept squeezing until his very blood felt cold and his head pounded, and he held his father’s limp hand and—

Balinor squeezed back.

Then Merlin was pulled off the Druid king. Someone held him up by his armpits before sitting down with him on the ground. He felt something cold behind him, like armor.

Merlin’s vision went black.


	15. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets to panic and shit goes down at the end.

_From_ Mortal Humanity

_The mortal kingdom of Camelot operates differently than the other mortal nations. As it has both a ruling monarch and an elected representative body, there is sometimes conflict over who gets to handle what. When it comes to matters of the court, the judge is decided by a coin flip between the king and prime minister. The king is always heads._

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen stood over Merlin with a damp towel. "Gaius, he's waking up," she called.

Gaius hurried over to the clinic table and bent over his nephew. "Merlin?" he beckoned. "Are you all right?"

Merlin moaned and blearily pulled his eyelids apart. "Gaius?" he said, and his voice was a croak.

"Fetch us some water, Gwen," Gaius asked. She nodded and left the room. "Merlin," he said, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, "perhaps you'd like to explain what's on your chest?"

Merlin breathed and felt the wound as his lungs inflated. "Father—." He sat upright. "Father! Gaius, he's—." He cringed in pain, and Gaius pushed him back down.

"I know," Gaius told him gently. "The whole world knows, Merlin. It hasn't even been a day and the newspapers are already out."

Merlin blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Arthur brought the Druid King into Camelot and demanded mortal doctors treat him. Many refused. The Druids tried to send mages to retrieve him and they were stopped and captured by the knights. The United States is rallying behind Uther's right to keep Balinor prisoner and the Chinese are demanding his freedom."

"But is he all right?" Merlin whispered. "Is he still alive?"

Gaius hesitated. "They haven't touched him," he said. "And Arthur is fighting with his father and the court to save Balinor's life."

Gwen entered with a cup and a pitcher of water and slid into the chair at Merlin's bedside. She tipped the cup into Merlin's mouth and some of it ran down his chin. "Sorry!" she said.

Merlin could not speak until he drank all of it, because Gwen did not understand his grunts requesting she stop. Finally, she pulled the cup away and started to refill it. "No, no, that's enough!" he insisted.

Gwen stopped and put the cup down. Gaius lifted an eyebrow before he spoke. "I am afraid there is nothing you can do."

"There has to be," Merlin whispered. "He  _saved_ Camelot!"

"The Druid queen is on her way," Gaius told him. "If anyone has a chance of saving the Druid king, it's her."

Merlin threw his blankets off. "I have to see Arthur." He got to his feet and wobbled, but he stayed upright. "Now."

"You're not well—!" Gwen exclaimed, reaching for him, but he pushed her away.

"I have to," he said firmly.

Gwen gaped at him. "Then I'm going with you," she decided.

* * *

Gaius gave Merlin some anti-nausea pills which made Merlin extremely drowsy, but with Gwen leading him through the streets, it was all right. The night was hot, and smoke still hung in the air. The streets were crowded with people staring up at the oversize screens in the square because the power was out in their homes. Merlin looked up as they hurried past because he heard Arthur's voice. The caption on the screen asked if the prince had turned traitor.

Gwen pulled him along.

The guards at the palace entrance were distracted by the crowds. When Merlin passed by them, the AM alarm went off. But there was already so much confusion that the flashing lights and blaring sirens only added to the panic. The knights started screaming orders and the people listened even less.

 _"Let us see the traitor prince!_ _"_

 _"Give us Arthur!_ _"_

 _"Give us his HEAD!_ _"_

Merlin, despite the pills, wanted to throw up.

"Lancelot!" Gwen yelled. Merlin saw the man up ahead, still dressed in his armor from the tournament, looking beaten and burned.

When he saw them, he smiled. "Gwen! Merlin!" Then it faltered. "What are you two doing here? There could be a riot! Get back home." His eyes met Merlin's. "You especially."

Gwen frowned. "We're fine, Lancelot. We need to get to Arthur."

Lancelot paused, staring down at the two of them. His brow furrowed and his eyes lingered on Merlin. Merlin felt naked under his gaze and wanted to shrink behind Gwen. Finally, Lancelot sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"I can get into the throne room," Gwen told him. "I just need to get the key." She yanked Merlin forward. "Take him and meet me in the east wing. Go!" She spun around and ran off, her blue cloak furling out behind her.

Lancelot gripped Merlin, hard. "Merlin, I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but I need to know—which king do you serve?"

Merlin blinked. "What?"

"There are two kings in that throne room, Merlin," he said, and his voice was low but Merlin heard every word. "I need to know where your loyalties lie."

Merlin pulled his arm from Lancelot's grip. "My loyalties," he said, "are to Arthur."

Lancelot paused. Then his lips split into a smile. "Smart boy," he said.

* * *

They had been waiting for nearly five minutes when Gwen came scurrying up the hallway to them. She ran right past them.

"Where—?" Lancelot asked.

"Hurry up!" she replied. Gwen skidded to a halt near the end of the hall, and waved the key she had in her hand. "Let's go!" She turned to the wall and started running her hand over it.

Merlin and Lancelot came to a halt beside her. "What are you looking for?" Lancelot asked.

"There's a secret door," Merlin realized.

Gwen nodded. "Into the courtroom. Morgana and I used to spy on Uther when he wouldn't let us in." She paused. "All right, maybe we still do." Suddenly, she stopped. "Found it." She rubbed at the stone until a small keyhole appeared. Then she turned the key in its lock and the wall opened up.

It was a narrow, short opening, and Gwen crawled into it with practiced ease. Merlin went next, and had to remember to keep his head down. Lancelot's armor got stuck.

"I… I can't move," Lancelot grunted.

Gwen looked under her arm at them. "Then go back and guard the door. We don't have time to waste. Merlin, come on." She jerked her head and scurried forward.

She slid out of the tunnel without a hitch. Merlin stumbled and landed nose down, hands out. The tunnel, however, let out behind a pillar. Gwen shushed him and started to pull him to his feet. Someone turned around in his seat and gave them a funny look. Gwen smiled radiantly and dropped Merlin on the ground.

The nobleman's eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. A sudden outburst from the court got his attention, however, and Merlin scrambled to his feet.

He did not need to be tall to see. The courtroom was like an amphitheatre, with seats on each circular level. And every seat was taken. The top few rows were nobles—men in sharp suits and women in professional dress. The bottom two rows were knights, all in matching red AM capes. On every level there were cameras, and cameramen.

In the open circle at the bottom were four chairs and a throne. Uther sat in the throne, wearing a suit and his royal bronze circlet. Arthur was on his feet. The prime minister sat in the chair closest to the throne, his blue sash a stark contrast to his dark suit. A doctor occupied the other chair. His white coat had drying blood on the sleeves.

The last chair held someone Merlin had hoped he had seen the last of—the Witch Hunter, Aredian.

"Your majesty," Arthur said, through gritted teeth, "we are not at war with the Druid kingdom. Without King Balinor's help, I could not have slain the dragon. I demand we give him the medical attention he needs."

"No, your majesty," Aredian said, cutting Arthur off so that the prince glared. "We cannot let the Druids think they can come into our land anytime without official summons. Especially their king."

" _I_  invited him here," Arthur said, raising his voice. " _I_  demanded his help. I will take the punishment for it, but please, do not let a man  _die_ for helping those in need!"

"Your actions, Prince Arthur, were unwarranted and unwise." Uther's tone was deadly and low. "And you will be punished for them."

"I understand." Arthur practically bit the words out. "But without Balinor, we would all be dead. I acted out of concern for my people."

"And who did Balinor act for?" the Witch Hunter demanded. "Certainly not  _our_ people. He is a Dragonlord! The Great Dragon, emerging after being lost for centuries, and it is laying waste to a people you loathe. How do we know he would not have taken control of the creature and given it a more direct path to victory? Why, had Arthur not been there, that might have happened. Now we cannot let this slide, Uther. Not now, not ever!"

Arthur screamed, "He came to  _help_ us!"

"Your majesty," someone called, and all eyes turned to the squire that had just entered the arena below, "the Druid queen is here. And she has brought an… entourage."

"Send her and no others," Uther ordered.

"Yes, sire." The squire bowed and hurried out of the ring.

Merlin wanted to see his father, see if he was all right. If he could go up to him and maybe siphon off a little more of his magic—

He felt a twinge of pain in his head and his chest and he knew he couldn't. He had no more magic to give up.

"Oh, Arthur," Gwen breathed. Merlin looked at her. Her hand was covering her mouth, and she had worry in her eyes. Not for Balinor, no, but for the mortal prince.

Merlin was worried for him, too.

"Dr. Benjamin," Uther said, "what is the condition of the Druid king?"

"He shouldn't be alive, sire," the doctor said. "And if he is not given the proper attention soon, he may never be conscious again." He pursed his lips and scowled. "My team is ready to—."

"Thank you, doctor," Uther snapped. "But as I said before, I will let you know if your skills will be required."

The doctor's eyes grew even narrower, but he fell silent.

At that moment, the squire's door opened again, and Queen Hunith entered.

It was always strange for Merlin to see his mother in her royal robes, but today, she was hardly recognizable. There was a purpose in her walk and a glint in her eye the likes of which Merlin had never seen before. The deep violet robes furled out behind her and silver shone with every twist of the fabric. She did not take the seat offered to her. She went to stand at Arthur's side, looking so big that you almost thought she was taller than him.

No mages followed her into the room. She stood alone, and her solitude did not make her shrink. She commanded the room now. All eyes were on her.

"Queen Hunith," Uther said.

"Uther," she said, and she made his name into a knife.

There was a silence so loud it seemed to hurt Merlin's ears.

"Please," Hunith gestured with her hand, "continue to discuss whether my husband dies today."

Another silence, and then Aredian cleared his throat. "The Druid king crossed the border without royal decree and thus is here illegally, and should be taken prisoner."

"Without royal decree?" Hunith said, her tone incredulous. She pointed at Arthur. "Is Arthur not regent prince of Camelot?"

Aredian blinked. "He is—."

"And doesn't that make him royal?"

"It does—."

"And in the absence of the king, the regent prince represents him, doesn't he?"

Aredian went silent.

Hunith nodded. "King Balinor was invited to Camelot by Prince Arthur. He was here by royal decree."

Arthur visibly relaxed.

Aredian bristled. "His motives for coming cannot be determined. A rogue dragon attacking Camelot would have been the perfect opportunity for him to finally quash our kingdom!"

"Do you know for sure what his motives were?" Hunith asked.

The Witch Hunter took a deep breath. "No—."

"How can you know if you don't let him get well enough to tell you?"

"We mustn't—."

"Your court, Uther, is old-fashioned and unjust," she snapped. "Balinor deserves at least the right to represent himself. And he cannot do that dead. So either you drop the charges—which, honestly, are quite unclear—or you let the doctors do their job so he may represent himself, like any court system from this century would do."

There was an uproar from the nobles. Several got to their feet. But the arena and the bottom two rows were silent. The knights stared up in shock. Aredian lowered his eyes. Merlin saw Arthur fighting a smirk.

Finally, Uther stood up, and perhaps it was only his kingly dignity that kept him from shriveling and crawling under his throne. "Silence!" he commanded, and the room went quiet with a hush. "Dr. Benjamin," he began, and his face twisted a little, "your team will take care of the Druid king to the best of their abilities. When he is well enough to represent himself, this trial will recommence." He paused and looked around. "Dismissed," he said.

Hunith whipped her robes around and beat Uther to the door. She looked at him with challenge in her eyes, and, after a tense moment, Uther stepped back and let her pass. The Druid queen left with silver flashing in her dress.

Merlin laughed. He was giddy with joy. His father was going to live. His mother had just put Uther in his place. He laughed again.

"Arthur's not out of the woods yet," Gwen told him, but she was smiling.

"It's not Arthur, I—." Merlin broke off. "It was great seeing Uther put down like that."

Gwen looked about to say something, but she looked past Merlin and cried, "Arthur!"

Merlin turned and saw the mortal prince quickly making his way up the tiers, and there was a fire in his eyes. Merlin had a feeling it was directed at him.

"What," Arthur said through gritted teeth, "are you doing here."

"I was…" Merlin hesitated. "I was helping Gwen!"

"Merlin," hissed Arthur, "you were an inch from death when we left the forest and you look only a foot from it now. You ought to be in a hospital, with IVs hanging out all your limbs!"

Merlin chewed on his bottom lip. "Well," he said uncertainly, "I'm doing fine anyways?"

Arthur looked like he could punch him. "If you're feeling so fine," he snapped, "I'm sure you can get right back to work tomorrow then!" He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Merlin asked. "What… where is the Druid king being kept?" He paused. "I want to thank him for saving us."

"He's unconscious, Merlin," Arthur said. "And you shouldn't go anywhere near him if you want to keep your head."

Merlin pursed his lips. "But I—."

"Don't." Arthur's tone was final. He waited for Merlin to challenge him, but the dark-haired boy was silent. Arthur nodded. "Morgana is tending to the wounded," he said to Gwen. "I'm sure she'd be happy to meet you in the infirmary."

Gwen nodded. "Walk with me, my lord?" she asked.

Arthur blinked. Merlin saw pink color his cheeks. "Um. Of course. My lady." He awkwardly held out his arm for her and she took it.

Gwen glanced over her shoulder and mouthed, "Go!" to Merlin, and Merlin did not need telling twice.

He sprinted down the levels of the amphitheatre and out the same door his mother had used. He barreled into the hallway and found himself on the lower levels, near the servant's quarters. A maid, Claire, was walking by, pushing a basket of laundry. He nearly crashed into her.

"Where is the Druid king being kept?" he demanded, grabbing the front of her cart.

"Why should I tell you, _Mer_ lin?" she snapped, giving her cart a shove.

"Arthur sent me," he said automatically.

"Last time I helped you I nearly got whipped for letting you use the washing machines!" she cried.

Merlin grimaced. "Yes, but! This time it's really important and there's no possible way it can be tied back to you. Eh?"

Claire gave him the most vicious of glares. He tilted his head down and looked at her through his lashes. Her mouth shriveled to a pinprick. "Fine, Merlin," she decided. "He's in the Manchester Suite. Ground floor." She pushed the cart into him again. " _And_ he's under guard."

"Thank you, Claire, thank you so much, you're a star. An angel!" He beamed at her as he ran off.

He almost skidded by the elevator, but he remembered the pendant that until recently had been embedded in his chest and decided maybe he ought to take it easy.

After the brief ride to the ground floor (which to Merlin took entirely too long) Merlin jogged carefully, then walked, until he found a room with two suited knights outside it. They both looked over when Merlin approached, and he was relieved to see that it was Leon and Valiant.

"Hello, Merlin," Leon greeted with a small smile. Merlin noticed he had a white bandage stuck to his left cheek, and he could see blood showing through the gauze.

"Had a better night than us?" asked Valiant. His right hand was completely covered in a cast.

"Not really," Merlin admitted, and the awful wooziness he had been fighting off all night came back like a punch in the gut, and he doubled over.

"Whoa!" Leon jumped to Merlin's side while Valiant backed up. "Are you all right, mate?"

Merlin swallowed. He couldn't speak so he simply nodded. After a minute he regained his composure, but he had a cold line of sweat on his forehead and his hands felt clammy. "Arthur sent me to give my thanks to the Druid king."

Leon hesitated. "He's unconscious, Merlin. The doctors are in there now."

"What about the queen?" he asked. He couldn't leave without at least seeing his mother. "Is she in there? I'm sure she would deliver the message for me."

Again, the knights looked uncertain. "Well—," Leon began.

"Arthur ordered me to, sir," Merlin said. "I'd rather not piss him off tonight."

The knights looked at each other for a moment before Valiant nodded. "All right," Leon said. "I'll go in with you."

Merlin had trouble swallowing, but he managed. "All right, fine," he said.

Leon opened the door and let Merlin in first.

The Manchester Suite looked as impressive as it sounded. In full light, Merlin was sure it would look quite kingly. But the heavy blue curtains were drawn and the only light was a bright, movable fluorescent lamp aimed down at a medical cot with a team of scrub-wearing doctors surrounding it.

One of them looked up. "We're busy," she snapped.

"We need to speak with the Druid queen," Leon announced.

Out of the shadows, a figure rose from a chair. "Yes?" she called.

Merlin did not wait for Leon. He made his way around the doctors and stopped just short of full-on embracing his mother. "Your majesty," he said, and he gave a quick bow. Leon appeared at his side and bowed as well.

"I know you," Hunith said. "You're Arthur's page boy."

Merlin made a face. His mother smiled. "Yes, that's me," Merlin said. "I bring a message from Prince Arthur."

"Indeed?" she said, raising an eyebrow. She looked at Leon.

Merlin looked at him as well. "Probably better delivered in private, actually."

Leon looked concerned. "What? Are you sure? It's just the prince's thanks."

"And then some, Leon, come on, use your head," Merlin reprimanded. "Obviously some of what occurred out in the woods ought not be made public."

Leon blinked a few times. "Um," he said.

"We'll go out on the balcony," Hunith said.

Leon nodded, although he still looked a little worried. "Okay."

Hunith pulled back the curtain and opened the glass doors. Merlin followed her out and shut them behind them.

Dawn had just broken. Sunlight was spreading from the east while the sky remained dark in the west. As soon as the curtains were closed, Hunith pulled Merlin to her and embraced him. "Oh my son," she moaned. "Oh, my darling boy. What am I going to do?" Her last words crumbled into a sob.

"Mum, it'll be fine," Merlin said, pulling back to look at her. He was taller than her, and his mother's aging face and graying hair made his heart clench. "Those doctors—they're very good. They can save him. I know they can."

"But what if they can't?" she whispered. "He shouldn't even be alive now! You did something, Merlin, I felt your magic in him." She fiercely grabbed the sides of his head. "You could have killed yourself," she hissed.

Merlin touched her hands gently. "I know," he said, and the pain in his chest surged. He was careful not to let it show on his face. "But I saved him. I kept him alive."

"He's a prisoner of the mortals," Hunith said. "I am powerless. You know if he dies the kingdom will turn on me. They hate me. They hate a mortal on the throne. They would see me hanged."

He looked at his mother and saw real fear in her eyes. No one should ever see that kind of fear when they look at their parents. "I will not," he said, "let that happen." He pulled her hands from his temples and held them firmly between his. "I'm Emrys! I'm the one they've been talking about for centuries! If Father dies," he almost choked on the words, "I take the throne. And you will be safe. I swear."

Hunith smiled sadly. "They can kill me, Emrys. My fear is not for myself." She bowed her head. "I am afraid that despite all of that, they will turn on you, too."

"They won't." Merlin was certain. He had to be certain.

Hunith just shook her head as a few tears dropped from her lashes.

Merlin wiped them with his thumbs. "Hey," he said. "Prince Arthur  _does_ actually say thank you."

Despite her tears, Hunith laughed. "I love that boy," she said. "He has a heart of pure gold." She kept smiling. "I hope, when he learns who you really are, his heart stays that way."

* * *

Arthur was in a rush. He had to find his father and parley for the Druid king's defense, in private, where Uther wouldn't have to keep appearances up. As he made his way to the king's private study, a page rushed past him.

"Sorry!" he called. "Urgent news for the king!"

Arthur blinked. He suddenly knew that he  _had to know_  what that urgent news was. And if he did not keep up with that page, he may never find out.

Arthur broke into a sprint, charging after the boy. They both raced up one last hallway, Arthur hot on his heels, and the page ripped open the doors to the king's study.

Panting, Arthur stared inside. Uther was seated in his big leather chair. Two knights were in there with him, one leaning over the desk and the other typing at a laptop. The page gasped for breath. "Your majesty," he said. "Urgent news."

Uther's eyes flicked to Arthur's, and his expression seemed to shrivel. "Out with it, boy," he ordered.

The page took a deep breath and straightened up. "The Anglican king Avious," he began, "is dead."

There was a moment of buzzing silence. "Dead," Uther repeated.

"Murdered," the page replied. "They found poison in his nightly glass of wine. Bellemistis will be crowned queen at the end of the week."

* * *

Miles away, in the Druid kingdom, a woman approached the noble house of the Silverbloods.

The sun had not yet risen here. Under cover of darkness she crossed the house's magical fence, the faint traces of magic in her blood letting her pass. She knew this place. She had lived here in her early years, as a servant.

She never thought she would return. At least, not like this.

A witch materialized before her as she reached the door, with a silver enchanted knife glinting in the last remains of moonlight. "Who goes there," she demanded.

The woman lowered her hood. "My name is Hanna," she said. "I served the Silverbloods when I was a child."

The witch lowered her knife and hood, as well. "Hanna!" she exclaimed. "Oh my gods, it has been too long!" She embraced her, but quickly pulled back. "But what brings you here now?"

"I must see the lady," Hanna told her.

The witch took her arm and together they disappeared.

They reappeared in a familiar room. Hanna remembered playing here as a child, with the lord's daughter.

A young woman was standing by the hearth, a candle flickering in her hand. She turned when they entered.

"My lady," the witch said, confused, "why are you awake?"

"Our king is in danger," the young woman replied. "I could not sleep." Her eyes narrowed and she brought the candle forward. "Hanna?" she said, incredulous.

Hanna dropped into a bow. "My lady, there is no time for pleasantries. I have information you must here."

The lady came over and sat down in the chair. "What is it?"

"I was captured by Uther," Hanna said. "I was working in the hospital and he thought me a witch. But Prince Arthur saved me."

"Prince Arthur?" the lady exclaimed.

"And… Prince Emrys."

Both the lady and her witch gasped.

Hanna looked between them. "He's in the mortal kingdom now acting as a servant to Prince Arthur." She focused on the lady and bowed again.

The lady looked aghast. "I must go find him!" she cried, standing up. "He needs to be with his people now more than ever!"

Hanna nodded. "If anyone can convince him, you can, Lady Freya."

Lady Freya Silverblood nodded. "I will go at once," she said. "And I will go alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so damn excited for Bellemistis to come back and Morgana and the Tall Knight is coming and oh my gosh I have waited too long to do this but I'm here now ahhhh I can't wait to write all of this but I just have to finish this essay first.


	16. The Anglicans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin goes to the Anglican kingdom!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's hella setup plz bear with it

_From_ Earth Angels, an in-depth analysis of Anglican culture

_Hens are a vital part of Anglican society. They are the preservers of the Anglican way of life, ensuring religious order and offering help to the less fortunate. They run missions in less-developed parts of the world. Most importantly, they serve in the royal palace. They are the only ones trusted near the monarch and the heir._

* * *

 

Two days passed and news of the Anglican king's death spread across the globe, giving anxious minds something to mull over as they awaited the fate of the Druid king.

In Camelot, there was an odd quiet. The town recovered from the dragon attack in isolation.

King Uther called his children to his study and frowned.

"We will be attending the coronation of Bellemistis tomorrow," he said, holding an embossed paper with two fingers. "She has sent a plane for us and we fly out as soon as you're ready."

Arthur made a sound as if to protest, but Uther silenced him with a look. "This is to be a quick, three-day visit. Go get ready."

Morgana and Arthur bowed slightly. They exited the study together. Morgana closed the door behind them.

Arthur waited until they were down the hall before swearing. "He's going to make sure King Balinor dies, isn't he," he snapped, fuming.

"His priorities are completely out of sorts!" Morgana cried. "He's so concerned with this 'image' that he's going to let a good man die! And what does he think will happen if Balinor is dead? Peace?"

"I swear, he wants an all-out war," Arthur murmured.

"And he'll get it if he's not careful!" Morgana nearly shouted. They traipsed up the stairs and stopped first in Arthur's chambers. Morgana sat down on his bed and kept going. "He's mad, Arthur. He's racist and bigoted and  _god_ I wish he'd listen one of these days."

"He can't be reasoned with," Arthur agreed. "I mean, I know what he says about magic. I've seen it justified. But after seeing that poor girl he accused of attacking you… she didn't have any magic. She just had bad blood." There was a chiming noise and Arthur looked down at his cell phone. "Elyan is in charge of escorting us," he said. "He wants to know if Gwen is coming."

"Of course she's coming," Morgana snapped. Then she sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean that to be rude."

"It's fine." Arthur looked at the message and his brows knit. "That's weird."

"What?" Morgana grabbed her brother's arm and pulled him to sit next to her so she could read over his shoulder.

"Father has ordered nearly all the knights to keep the citadel under guard because of Balinor," Arthur explained. "So our escort to the coronation will be Elyan, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Morgause."

Morgana blinked. "I don't know those last two."

"I know Lancelot," Arthur said. "He's not a knight. And I think I recognize the name Morgause. I've seen it before." He shook his head. "Definitely not knights though."

"No, I've heard these names before too," Morgana said. "I think… Gwen mentioned a Lancelot once or twice…"

"She what?"

Morgana waved her hand. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe they were in the tournament?"

"Oh! Yes. That's it. But I didn't fight this Morgause fellow."

"I think he was the really tall one."

"Yes. You're right." Arthur pursed his lips. "I'm looking forward to meeting him. Maybe after this we can have our duel."

"Good plan. Now pack, Arthur, hurry up. And, um," she hesitated, "are you bringing Merlin?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, your boyfriend is coming."

"He's  _not_ my boyfriend, Arthur."

"There's no point in hiding it from me." Arthur smirked as Morgana stalked towards the door. " I'm not going to tell Father."

"There's nothing to hide," Morgana said haughtily. Then she blushed a little. "Yet." And she vanished down the hall.

* * *

A shrill ringing sound echoed through the room and Merlin jumped a near foot in the air. He shook his head and his brain seemed to rattle inside his skull. Phone, he thought. It's my mobile…

He felt along his pockets and then in his bed sheets and found the wretched device tucked near the foot of his bed. He answered it and suppressed a yawn. "Yeah?"

_"_ _Merlin, get ready. We're going to Bellemistis's coronation._ _"_

Merlin had to blink about eight times before he could reply. "Cor-coronation?" he said. "For Bellemistis?"

_"_ _We're going to the Anglican kingdom, yes. Bring extra clothes, we'll be there till Saturday._ _"_

Out of everything, that pierced through Merlin's veil of exhaustion. "Saturday!?" he exclaimed. "No, no that's too long, I can't be… be away for that long."

_"_ _Gaius is capable of fetching his own prescriptions for three days, now get your skinny arse down here. Twenty minutes._ _"_ The line went dead.

Merlin stayed stone still. "No," he whispered. Slowly, he pulled the phone away from his ear and saw his hand was shaking. "No, no, no."

Balinor was not doing well. Merlin had run himself ragged bouncing between being Merlin and Emrys, siphoning off magic to help his father whenever he could. He spent his nights at his father's side, hiding on the balcony when the doctors came to check on him. He had not slept in days.

Now Arthur was taking him away. And it might kill Balinor.

"Gaius!" Merlin shouted. He pelted off his bed and flung himself into Gaius's room. "Gaius, Arthur is taking me to the Anglican kingdom!"

Gaius looked up from his desk and lifted his glasses. "Oh?"

"You have to tell him I'm ill," Merlin demanded. "I can't go. I can't leave my father like this. Not when he could… could…" Merlin looked away and swallowed down his anguish. He did not have the energy to waste.

Gaius stood up and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "My boy," he said gravely, "I can see what you're doing to yourself. If you're not careful, you'll get hurt."

Merlin squinted. "So?" he said. "My dad is dying. I don't have time to worry about myself."

"I know you think that, but Merlin, you—."

"I can't go to the Anglican kingdom for three days."

"You have to."

"No."

"If you don't, I fear you will be found out." Gaius looked at him somberly. "And that, Merlin, is the most dangerous thing to your family."

Merlin hesitated. He did not want Gaius to be right. He wanted to stay and take the risk and save his father. Nothing mattered so long as Balinor lived.

Merlin needed to be smart about this, though. He needed to strengthen his alibis and keep his identity secret. He looked at Gaius. "You keep him alive, all right?"

"I—."

"As your prince," Merlin said sternly. "You keep him alive."

Gaius stared at him. Merlin did not back down. "Yes, my lord," Gaius said with a small bow.

Merlin nodded. He felt crumbly and weak. He went to run a hand through his hair and ended up rubbing his face, moving his nose and lips around without really feeling them. Finally, he nodded again and left to pack.

* * *

The walk to the citadel was quiet, and had been since the dragon attack. Merlin's head was so full of noise he hardly noticed the silence. He nodded at the two guards stationed outside the citadel gates without noticing who they were and walked though the courtyard. Gaius had given him a new charm to trick the magic detectors, and he passed through them without a hitch.

Merlin felt a pull from the south side of the castle, where Balinor lay unconscious in the Manchester Suite. Maybe Merlin could take a detour, see his father one last time before he left—

Merlin's mobile rang obscenely loud and he jumped in fright before answering it.

" _Where the hell are you, Merlin, we need to leave._ "

"I'm, um, I just got here," he stumbled.

" _We're in the north garage. And you're not. Move your skinny arse._ "

The line went dead before Merlin could protest anymore. Reluctantly he turned to the north side of the castle. He ran.

Gwaine was standing at the door when Merlin burst through it, panting. "About time, eh?" he said, smiling. "This way. The royal family's got their knickers in a twist, waiting around for you."

Merlin said, "Arthur's knickers are always twisted. I would know. I wash them."

"True." Gwaine beamed. "But his  _sister's_ knickers—those are the knickers I'd like to hear more about."

Merlin stopped and gawked at him, his face a mix between horror and intrigue. Gwaine let out a hearty laugh and pulled Merlin after him.

They climbed into a slick black car, one with seats that faced each other, with Merlin in the back and Gwaine sitting shotgun.

"Do not," Uther said. He was seated across from Merlin, with Morgana beside him and Gwen next to her, "be tardy again."

Merlin nodded vigorously. Next to him, Arthur let out a small sigh. Gwen gave Merlin an encouraging smile. Morgana did the same and of course Merlin's thoughts went to his conversation with Gwaine. His ears turned pink and he had to look away.

He missed her crestfallen look.

It was a rather awkward drive to the airport, no one wanting to talk with Uther present and Uther seeming to like it that way. Merlin's thoughts were frazzled. They jumped from his father to Morgana to his mother to Uther and hit everything in between. He felt like the pinball machine Arthur always insisted on playing when they went to that strange American restaurant with an entourage of guards. His thoughts hit every little pin and lit up at everything, confusing pathways and deeming every little thing important.

To distract himself, Merlin tried to discreetly stare at Morgana.

He started with her shoes, because they were on the floor. White shoes with a low heel to them. Some sort of stitched flower pattern on the side of them. No socks. No need in this weather.

He lingered on her legs. He lingered a little too long, and grew embarrassed, and had to stare out the window in the hopes that it would calm his blush.

They drove onto the tarmac and Gwaine opened the door for them. Merlin stumbled out first and waited for Arthur to emerge like he was supposed to. He nodded briefly at Lancelot, and almost missed the woman beside him.

Almost.

She was very, very tall—taller than Lancelot, and dressed in the sharp black suit customary of knights. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her brown eyes seemed like could cut you if she looked at you the right way.

All of this, and  _Merlin almost missed her_. But when his gaze passed over her she stood out to him with a strange clarity. All her colors were brighter. Her face seemed to be unencumbered where all others were behind a sheet of rain glass.

_Magic._

Merlin gawked at her and watched as Uther walked up to the stairs, nodding at her. "Morgause," he greeted. "And Lancelot. I'm sorry the official ceremony had to be put on hold."

"That's all right," Lancelot said with a small smile.

"It is an honor to be here now," added the woman. Her eyes flicked to Merlin and then back to Uther.

Merlin felt a wild panic fill him. His heart started to pound against his ribcage because those eyes were so cold. They held a hate deeper than any Merlin had ever beheld and it terrified him.

"I am pleased to hear that," Uther said. He nodded once and proceeded up the stairs.

A hand slapped down on Merlin's shoulder and he jumped, looking around wildly. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't do to go gawking at pretty women, Merlin. Especially not with Morgana around." He looked at Merlin pointedly, clapped him again, and followed Morgana and Gwen up the stairs.

Lancelot beamed after Gwen and gave Merlin a small wave as Merlin approached. Morgause turned on her heel and marched up the stairs. "You look terrible," Lancelot noted.

"Do I?" Merlin said.

"Like, worse than the last time I saw you," Lancelot went on.

Merlin sighed. "That bad?"

"Plague-bad." Merlin let out a groan. Lancelot said, "What's wrong? Are you sick? Is it something with your—" he broke off and his voice dropped low, " _abilities?_ "

Merlin coughed out a laugh. "Um," he said, and he couldn't help smiling, "no. It's nothing. Stress, is all." Then his smile wavered, and he felt like all his secrets were about to come spilling out, so he jogged up the last few steps and entered the plane.

Arthur beckoned Merlin and Merlin said down in the large, tan seat. He set his bag on the floor, buckled his little seat belt, and froze.

He had never actually been in a plane before. Let alone one that was going  _into the air._

Beside him, Arthur started rustling. Merlin looked at him in horror and watched as Arthur got out a small bottle of pills, swallowed one dry, and produced a sleeping mask out of a pocket on the side of the plane. "I hate flying," he said. He then pulled earphones from his pocket, inserted them ritualistically into his ears, pressed a button on his phone, pulled the mask over his head, and did not move again.

Merlin had watched all of this with a scared fascination, none of it helping his nerves. Now that the spectacle was over, he blinked rapidly and tried to calm down. He heard clicking and saw everyone buckling their seat belts, getting comfortable. Gwen and Morgana spoke to each other in low voices. Uther pulled out a magazine. Gwaine was showing Elyan something on his phone.

A woman Merlin had never seen before, dressed in an Anglican gold skirt, emerged from a dark passageway near the front. She had tawny wings that matched her hair and a pink-lipped smile. Her wings ruffled as she walked. She clasped her hands together and gave Uther a small bow. "Ladies and gentleman," she said to the cabin, "we will be taking off shortly. As none of you are Anglican, please make sure your belts are buckled and that you remain seated during takeoff. We have parachutes located here," she pointed, "to accommodate mortals in case of an in-flight emergency. Thank you all. Enjoy your flight." And she vanished behind the curtain again.

Merlin stared at the curtain for a long time, wondering if he still had time to get off. Then the plane lurched and Merlin gripped the arms of his seat. A loud whirring noise filled the plane. He looked around at everyone else. No one seemed worried. Morgana got herself a stick of gum while beside her Gwen worked on her needlepoint. Elyan laughed at something Gwaine said and grabbed the other knight's phone. Uther seemed thoroughly uninterested in his magazine.

And here was Merlin, about to have heart attack. The whirring noise grew louder and louder. He looked out the window and saw the world zipping by Arthur's limp head. Merlin pressed his lips together tight in an effort to keep from screaming. He felt the whole plane lift off the ground, saw the ground fall away from his little oval window.

For ten long, agonizing minutes Merlin sat like that, so tense he probably blew a few blood vessels. His ears felt like his brains were going to spew out of them, until, finally, the plane seemed to level. He felt his grip on the imitation leather armrests loosen and his heart rate stabilize.

"Oi, Merlin," Elyan called. "C'mere."

Merlin stared at him. "Um. I think I'd rather stay in my chair, actually."

"Oh, come on, Arthur's not that good a company," Gwaine laughed. Elyan smacked his shoulder and jerked his head toward Uther, but the king was dozing.

Merlin shook his head insistently.

Elyan rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"I'll show him." Gwaine took the phone from Elyan and clambered over him, stumbling into the open area of the private jet. He stepped lithely across it and nudged Merlin's arm off its armrest so he could occupy it with his behind.

"Look at this," he said. He held up his phone and Merlin saw his mother frozen on the little screen before Gwaine pressed the play icon on the touch screen.

_"_ _Your court, Uther, is old-fashioned and unjust."_  Hunith's voice was a bit tinny on the phone's speakers, but she rang just as clear as she had that day in court. _"Balinor deserves at least the right to represent himself. And he cannot do that dead._ _"_

"Wait for it," Gwaine snickered.

_"_ _So either you drop the charges—which, honestly, are quite unclear—or you let the doctors do their job so he may represent himself, like any court system from this century would do._ _"_

The audio of the video cut and was replaced by a song. As Hunith spun around and left the courtroom, the lyrics sounded something like, _"_ _I'm a boss-ass bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch._ _"_

Gwaine stifled his laughter with his hand. Merlin gave him a sideways look _. "Isn't that_ _funny?_ _"_ Gwaine chortled.

_"_ _Yeah,"_ Merlin said, though he certainly wasn't laughing. _"I'm just… I don't like flying, is all."_

Gwaine looked at him and frowned. Merlin closed his eyes and pretended he did not want to throw up—though whether that nausea came from the flight or the fact that his mother's beautiful defense of his father was now an internet joke, he wasn't sure. He just swallowed it down—like he did so many of his feelings—and tried to sleep.

* * *

In the end, Merlin supposed the flight wasn't all that bad. Landing had made his stomach move up into his chest in the most uncomfortable of ways, but, now that he was back on solid ground, he supposed it wasn't unlike his first few times teleporting. It just took longer.

The flight attendant led them across the tarmac. Her tawny wings were held high and her heels made little  _tip tips_  on the pavement. They walked with Uther at the head, flanked by Morgause and Lancelot. Arthur walked a little behind his father, in step with Morgana. Merlin and Gwen were behind them, with Gwaine and Elyan bringing up the rear.

The knights wore Aviator sunglasses and Merlin was jealous because the sun was so bright on the island of Anglos. Morgana had white ones that matched her shoes. Gwen's were purple. Merlin squinted and realized he was the only one without sunglasses.

He felt a little stupid.

They were led to a set of convertible cars, bronze in color, seating five each. An Anglican officer waited by each one. Merlin squinted at them. The female officer wore plain white clothes, her shirt open-backed so her wings could be out, with a blue sash across her breast. The male officer wore white slacks and no shirt, only the blue sash.

Merlin's driver was the woman, and she smiled warmly and spoke only when directly addressed.

On the drive, Merlin took it all in. He had been to the Anglican kingdom once, when he was very small, before he was put in a hooded cloak. He remembered nothing from the trip, but he had a feather from it that he kept in his desk.

Seeing the Anglican kingdom now, Merlin was shocked by how bright everything was. The sky was extra blue. The sunlight extra yellow. The grass was so green it hurt Merlin's eyes. They drove along the coast, and Merlin had never seen water so blue.

It was a short drive—it was a small island. The castle was soon in sight and Merlin was awestruck.

The castle was the color of sand, with great spindly towers. He saw ladders crisscrossing all over it, along with ropes, some like tightropes and others like vines. None of the windows had glass. Every single one was open and big enough for a man to stand inside it, and each one had a small platform in front of it.

The cars pulled into a great circular driveway and stopped at the base of a large set of tan-colored stairs. As they all exited the cars, a small group of Anglicans came trotting down the steps. Merlin looked, but he did not see Bellemistis.

"Welcome!" the woman at the front said, and Merlin stared at her. She was  _old._  Merlin didn't know why, but he had never thought Anglicans got old. She had long, curly gray hair and feathers that match. But her wrinkled old smile was genuine. "King Uther, it is an honor to once again welcome you to our kingdom."

Uther shifted uncomfortably, and Merlin remembered the comment Uther had made about Anglicans being half-breeds. "Yes, I am pleased to be here," the mortal king said. "And I am sorry for King Polevous."

"We appreciate your being here," the woman said. She made to turn back up the stairs. "Please, follow me."

Uther looked around. "Where is the princess? I expected to be welcomed by her." He gave the woman a pointed look.

The woman paused in her pivot and said, "Princess Bellemistis is unable to leave her room. Please understand that she is still grieving the loss of her father." She looked at the two drivers. "Bring their things."

Merlin turned to Gwen as they started up the stairs. "Who is she?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Gwen answered quietly. "I've never seen her before."

"She's a hen," Morgana said, slowing down to walk beside Merlin. "Hens are Anglican women that serve in the palace. They're kinda like nuns, I guess. They run orphanages and do odd jobs for the royal family. I wouldn't be surprised if this one," she jerked her head towards the woman leading them, "raised Bellemistis after her mother died."

Inside the Anglican palace, the halls were enormous. Some servants walked by them, but more flew over their heads. Birds nested in little crevices and on platforms that seemed to be there just for them. Feathers littered the ground.

"You'll be staying on the ground floor," the hen told them. "We have no stairs to the upper levels, unfortunately. Dinner will be served in an hour, and it will be brought to your rooms. We apologize, but as the princess doesn't have the strength to entertain, we felt it would be best to have it like this." She led them down the left passageway and opened a door, revealing a spacious suite. "For you, King Uther. If you need anything, Sparren will be with you." She gestured and the male Anglican driver nodded.

Elyan stayed with Uther. The hen led them to another suite, and they left Morgana, Gwen, Morgause, and the female driver. The rest of them were brought to a large suite farther down the hall.

"Matron," one of the Anglicans said to the hen as she showed them their suite, "the Druid representative has arrived."

The hen looked Arthur and the others. "I am afraid I must leave you. If you need anything, Hawke is here to assist you."

"Excuse me," Merlin said, jogging after the hen, "but, um, is there any way I could see Princess Bellemistis?"

The hen looked at him, and Merlin decided her nose looked like a beak. She did not smile. "The princess is not well," she said firmly. "She must rest for tomorrow." She went to leave.

"Will you," Merlin said abruptly, grabbing her arm, "will you at least tell her I'd like to see her? My name is Merlin."

The hen looked at him for a moment before nodding once. "Of course, dear," she said. Then she flapped her wings and flew off, the door slamming behind her.

"Aren't they friendly," Arthur said. He dropped onto the couch and shivered. "This castle was always too drafty."

Lancelot got up and went to the window. He leaned out and found shutters the same color as the walls on either side of the window, pulled them in, and the wind ceased.

"Now it's too dark," Gwaine whined.

Arthur grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at him. Gwaine squawked when it hit. "Turn on a light," the mortal prince said. "They're Anglicans, not heathens."

Merlin put his bag down in one of the bedrooms. The ceiling was high even here, and towards the top of the wall were thin windows letting in rays of sunlight.

"Where's the town?" he heard Gwaine ask. "Don't they have a castle town?"

"They do," Lancelot answered. "The Anglicans live in the trees, mostly, or higher. They build big platforms off the ground and construct little houses on top of them. It's pretty cool, actually."

Merlin sat down on his bed and thought about where one might find an Anglican princess in her own castle.

"Did you hear that bit about the Druid representative?" Arthur said from the other room. "Do you think it's Prince Emrys?"

"No way," Gwaine said. "That coward show up here while his father rots in Camelot?"

"Well, it certainly isn't Hunith," Arthur said. "Has to be Emrys."

"Would you even know him if you saw him?" Lancelot pointed out.

"I would," Arthur declared. "I'd know that snake of a prince anywhere."

Merlin had heard enough. He stood up and vanished on the spot.

He reappeared out in the hall and walked opposite the way they had come, proceeding farther into the castle. He couldn't be around that, not with his father so very near death making Arthur so very near finding out who Merlin really was.

A coward. A snake of a prince.

Merlin shook his head to banish those thoughts and walked on.

* * *

"I'm  _starving,_ " Morgana complained, legs draped over the arm of the couch. She leaned back and looked at the female officer. "What time is dinner again?"

"Six, my lady," the woman said. "Won't be much longer. Would you like me to put on a film?" She gestured to the television across the room.

Morgana made a face. "Yeah, why not," she said. "Gwen, did you bring cards?"

Gwen looked up from her needlework. "I think so," she said. "But I don't want to play."

Morgana made a face. She looked around and found the female knight, Morgause. "Do you want to play?"

Morgause frowned at her. "Play what?"

"Cards," Morgana said. "You know, something to do."

She hesitated, but sat down on the couch. Morgana faced her and crossed her legs. "Were you in the tournament?" she asked.

"I was," Morgause said as she picked up her cards. "But a dragon interrupted my fight with your brother."

"So you  _were_  that knight!" Morgana exclaimed. "I thought so! You fight very well, lady knight."

Morgause smiled a little. "Thank you, my lady. I worked hard for it."

"Uther let me train with Arthur for awhile," Morgana told her. "But once I hit puberty he insisted I stop and pursue more artistic endeavors."

"Do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"More artistic endeavors."

Morgana shrugged. "Not really. I mean, piano was fun for awhile, but it wasn't me. Uther let me keep swimming, though. My health is the only thing holding me back now."

Morgause nodded and looked at her cards.

"How did you train to fight like that?" Morgana asked.

"My mother," said Morgause. "When I lived with her, she taught me to fight."

* * *

Merlin wandered about the castle. Several people flew over his head, and one or two asked him if he needed anything. Merlin asked them if there was a garden he could walk in, and one of them directed him to the back of the citadel, where a great courtyard apparently stood.

"If you just follow this hall," she had said, "you'll find it."

Well, Merlin had been following and wasn't having much luck. He looked out every window he passed, but the further along he got, the more sheer cliffs seemed to be waiting outside.

"Excuse me," Merlin said to the next Anglican walking past him. "But, where's the garden?"

The Anglican man reached over and scratched at his wing. "Who are you?" he asked.

Merlin eyed the sword strapped at his side and realized he was speaking to an Anglican knight. "I'm Merlin," he said. "I'm part of King Uther's party."

"Oh, right," the knight said. "Well, come on, I'll walk you there."

Merlin smiled. "Thanks," he said.

"I got nothing else to do." The knight shrugged and started walking with Merlin. "So, Merlin, eh? That's an Anglican name."

"My mum picked it," Merlin said.

"It's a good name," the man said. "I always liked it. Wanted it for my future son, but then my sister had a kid and she took it." Merlin laughed and the knight smiled. "I'm Jay. Sir Jay, if you want to get formal. Son of Lord Thrush, if you want to be extra formal."

Merlin grinned. "I'm Merlin. Merlin the manservant."

"Merlin the manservant who likes gardens?" Jay inquired.

"Can't get enough of 'em."

"Lucky for you, Merlin the manservant, we have a very lovely bird garden."

Merlin said, "Are you serious? Bird garden?"

Jay smiled. "What else would it be?"

Merlin looked at Jay with admiration. He liked his blond hair and yellow feathers, and his bronzed skin over his lean muscles. He kind of liked his face, too, and the way it reminded him of someone.

"Over here," Jay said, pointing. "This doorway leads out to the garden. The other windows kinda lead out into an endless abyss."

"I noticed," Merlin said. "It's like this castle is built on a canyon."

"Kinda is," Jay answered. "Keeps the ground farther away." He smiled. "Enjoy your walk."

Merlin watched Jay walk away and before stepping out into the garden.

It was not as big as the one in Camelot, but it was infinitely more beautiful. There were rose bushes taller than Merlin, fruit trees covered in fruits, exotic flowers, and birds. So many birds, of all colors and sizes. They twittered and sang, resting in the trees, on the ground, in the many ornate bird baths. They looked at Merlin when he entered and were so friendly that some even landed on his arms.

* * *

Morgana went silent. Morgause's words brought the image of Nimueh to her mind. She saw the witch with murder in her eyes, felt her magic binding her there, heard those horrible words.

_Morgana, you are my daughter._

And then she remembered her own power, that thing that swelled up in her when it all got to be too much…

Morgana looked at her cards and said, "That sounds so cool. Learning to fight from your mother. I learned from one of the older knights. He's retired now."

She could feel Morgause's eyes on her and kept her gaze on her cards. She had the slightest inkling that the tall woman could see straight through her, straight to the golden, magical core she was trying so hard to keep locked up.

"Ah, I win," Morgause said.

"Oh," Morgana said. Then she smiled. "Beginner's luck."

Morgause arched an eyebrow. "Want to test that?"

* * *

"Merlin, where have you been?" Arthur demanded. He had a plate on his lap and an Xbox controller in his hands. "Your dinner is getting cold."

"I went for a walk," Merlin said. "They have a lovely bird garden."

"They would," Gwaine chortled. He shoveled several fork-loads of salad into his mouth. "Anglicans are freaking vegans, Merlin. They don't even use  _eggs._  I'm going to starve."

"Poor Gwaine," Lancelot said. "Allergic to greens."

"Oi, shut it, newbie."

Merlin laughed and found his dish on the small table by the window. It consisted of a salad, a hot bowl of rice with mixed vegetables and tomato sauce, and a slice of pie. It was much less glamorous than the meals of Camelot or even the Druid kingdom.

"What's this?" Merlin asked as he sat down on one of the chairs. He looked at the television and tried to act like he had a clue what he was looking at.

" _Halo,_ " Arthur replied. "I've always wanted an Xbox, but Father thinks video games are a waste of time."

Gwaine frowned. "Doesn't your sister have a DS?"

"She does," Arthur replied. "And the only reason she still has it is because on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, it's mine." There was a hail of gunfire on the television, and Arthur swore. "Ah well," he said. He held the controller out. "Here, Merlin, have a go."

"Oh, no," Merlin said. The idea of controlling the little man on the screen terrified him. "I can't."

Arthur rolled his eyes and retracted his arm. "Come on, Gwaine, winner gets the other man's pie."

"Oh  _hell_  yes!"

Lancelot sat down in the chair next to Merlin, holding his own rice bowl. "Did you see the Druid representative while you were out?" he asked.

Merlin almost choked on his food. He hesitated, gathered himself, and said, "Um. No."

Lancelot leered at him. Merlin remembered unhappily what Lancelot knew and swallowed audibly. The knight took a bite of his food and said, "Shame. I'd like to know who it is."

"Merlin, go see them," Arthur said, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"What?" Merlin and Lancelot said together.

"Yeah, go find out who we're dealing with." Arthur's face screwed up and he pressed some buttons with unnecessary force. "Damn it."

Gwaine laughed. "Your pie is going to be mine, princess."

"My lord, I don't think sending Merlin alone is a good idea," Lancelot said, standing up. Merlin gawked up at him.

"Then go with him, sir knight, if you're so worried about him," Arthur said. "But the Druids won't hurt him. Not here."

"That's not…" Lancelot trailed off into silence.

Merlin finished the last of his rice and stood up, taking pleasure in the fact that he was taller than Lancelot. "Come on, sir knight," he said.

The moment the door shut behind them Merlin rounded on Lancelot. "What is  _wrong_  with you?" he hissed.

"I am just doing my job," Lancelot said tersely. "Wait, no I'm not, because doing my job would be  _turning you in._ "

"I have magic," Merlin snapped. "That doesn't make me a Druid."

"But it makes you an enemy of the mortals," the knight told him. "And I honestly can't figure out why you're risking your life unless you have ulterior motives."

"Me!?" Merlin cried. "Ulterior motives?" He shook his head and turned around. "Look, let's just go find out who the Druid is and—." Merlin collided with someone. "Whoa!" he said. "Um, sorry, I— _Freya!?_ "

The young woman straightened her skirt, looked up, and stiffened. She tried to speak, but she saw Lancelot and her voice caught in her throat. "Merlin! Hello, Merlin. Good to see you again."

"Y-yes," Merlin said. "Um. How long has it been?"

"Seven years."

"Ah."

The air became intensely awkward. Merlin was torn between looking at Freya and avoiding looking at her at all. She was prettier than he remembered. Of course, seven years ago… Merlin had been thirteen.

Freya was the first person besides his parents to see Merlin out of his hood. And that  _did_  have special meaning. But they had been  _betrothed._ Merlin felt like burying his head in the sand.

"Are you, um," Merlin began, clearing his throat, "are you here with the Druid representative?"

Freya cocked her head. "I  _am_  the Druid representative," she said.

"Huh?" Merlin said, at the same time Lancelot's jaw dropped.

"The queen contacted me," Freya told them, glancing warily at Lancelot, "and asked me to come to the Isle Anglos." She met Merlin's eyes and her gaze was so deep Merlin could not look away. "I look forward to catching up with you," she said with a small smile. Then she nodded at Lancelot. "Good night."

Merlin and Lancelot watched her walk away. "Well," Merlin said, and his voice cracked. "We found the Druid representative. And I'm tired, wow." He faked a yawn. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

Merlin couldn't get away fast enough.

* * *

Some hours later, Morgana had brushed her hair and teeth and was ready to sleep, save one thing.

She could not find her pills.

The contents of the one bag she had packed lay strewn about the floor of her room. She had turned out every pocket, shaken it upside down, and even asked Gwen if she had them, by chance. But they were nowhere to be found.

Morgana could picture the little orange bottle in her head, waiting patiently on her desk. She ran a hand through her hair and willed her heart to stop racing.

"My lady?"

Morgana turned. Morgause was standing in the doorway. Morgana was sure she had shut the door. "Yes?" she said.

The knight asked, "Is everything all right?"

Morgana pursed her lips. "Y-yes, everything's fine, I just… forgot my medicine." She grinned sheepishly. "Oops."

Morgause stared at her for a moment. "I might have something." She disappeared from sight and returned not a moment later, walking straight into Morgana's room and kneeling beside her on the floor. "Here," she said, and she held out her hand. "This was my mother's. It should help."

Morgause held out a thick, silver bracelet. Morgana's first instinct was that it was gaudy, but it had pretty little designs carved into it. "This will help?" she said.

"Yes." Morgause gave a small smile. "My mother was a bit of a hippie. Believed in all that natural healing stuff. She said this bracelet was the best thing for her back pains."

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Sounds a bit like magic." Even as she said it, her curiosity piqued. How would it feel to have something magical, some object that could share her secrets?

Morgause shrugged. "Maybe it doesn't work, then."

"I'll try it."

Morgause blinked. "You will?" she said, incredulous.

"Yes." Morgana hid her eagerness well. "I might as well. Nothing can really hurt tonight."

Morgause smiled and handed it to her. "Sleep well, my lady." She picked herself up and left.


	17. The Harpy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you believe that not everything i wanted to get into this got into it
> 
> i have got so much more to write

_From_ Earth Angels: an in-depth analysis of Anglican culture

_The Anglican term for queer is “harpy”. In myth, harpies were beautiful winged women that would drive a man mad with their singing. In the past, it was a vulgar term for an unmarried Anglican woman. Today, it is a very offensive term for queer Anglicans._

* * *

 

 

Coronation day was a busy day in the Anglican palace. Merlin woke to the sound of flapping wings and leaned out the window to see dozens of Anglicans fluttering about the castle. They held great, long streamers between them and yelled directions to each other, working to string the thick blue and white ribbons from turret to turret.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice came. “Get in here! I need your help dressing!”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but even Arthur’s unbearable neediness couldn’t get him down now. He was going to see Bellemistis in a few hours.

He trotted past Gwaine, asleep on the couch, and into Arthur’s room. He helped the mortal prince into his shirt and laced up his shoes for him, and he didn’t even feel pathetic.

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin turned and was greeted by a wad of clothes to the face. “This is the ceremonial servant’s uniform. You need to wear it today.”

Merlin scowled at the wad and unraveled it. He paled. “You’re not serious.”

“I am completely serious. It’s very traditional.”

“I refuse.”

“Wear it or my father will see you strung up by your toes.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad compared to this.”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin sighed and rubbed the material between his fingers. “Fine,” he snapped. “But not the hat.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Merlin gave an exaggerated groan. “ _Please_ not the hat, Arthur.”

“Fine. We can start stringing your toes tonight, so you get used to it by—.”

“Oh my god. Fine. I’ll wear the bloody hat.”

* * *

 

Merlin supposed there were worse things than looking like a cockatiel at an Anglican ceremony. His outfit actually seemed to be in style. Many of the Anglicans wore ornate feather headdresses, with colorful plumage sewn onto the necklines of their dresses and dangling from their bracelets.

Merlin strode in his bright red cloak a few steps behind Arthur. He felt a little like Robin Hood, that is until the feather atop his head dropped in front of his face and he had to swat it away.

The Pendragon royal family had seats reserved in the front row, on the left side of the ceremonial hall. Next to them sat the prime minister of Camelot, and behind them was the Druid representative, Freya.

Freya gave Merlin a boggled look when she saw his outfit. Merlin simply shook his head at her. He sat down between Morgana and Lancelot and put his hand behind him. He felt Freya grip it for a moment, then they both pulled away.

“Merlin,” Morgana said, and he turned his attention to her, “have you seen Bellemistis yet?”

“No. The hen said she was grieving.”

Morgana nodded a little. She raised a hand to brush at her hair and Merlin saw her wrist.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“What’s what?”

“That. That bracelet. Where did you get it?”

Morgana looked at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

Merlin paused. He reeled in his panic, but did not look away from the bracelet. “It just… can I see it?”

Morgana hesitated, then held out her wrist.

Merlin knew when something was enchanted, like this bracelet was. It could be anything— _do_ anything. What if it was hexed? It could kill her!

But when his fingertips touched the gold he let out a sigh. It was merely a calming spell. A powerful one, yes, but only that. At worst it would make Morgana docile, but it was harmless.

He pulled his hand away. “Sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “It just looked a little suspicious.”

Morgana looked at him. That clear green gaze got sharper, and Merlin’s breath hitched. He watched the skin between her eyebrows crinkle, and her eyes narrow.

“You’re not telling me something,” she said, and her voice was low, almost inaudible in the babbling hall.

Merlin felt something cold drop in his chest. Her gaze was so strong, so intense, that he simply looked away.

Morgana did not, however. “Merlin,” she said. “What’s—.”

A sudden hush fell over the hall, and it cut Morgana off. Merlin silently thanked all the gods he knew, and focused on the front of the hall.

Before him was a set of stone steps, leading up to a sort of platform. The Anglican throne sat there, tall and carved from wood, with feathers carved deep into its back.

The hen, the same one from yesterday, was standing on the platform, looking at the assembly with those hawk-like eyes. Merlin felt she could see every secret he held. She kept her wings up and hands poised.

Finally, when she had surveyed the crowd, she spoke.

“My brothers and sisters,” she said, and her voice sounded from everywhere. Merlin realized there was a little microphone clipped to her dress, and speakers in the walls. “We come here today in sadness. Our beloved King Avious ascended to the angels four days ago, and joined his wife, Queen Angela, in the heavens. We mourn him.”

All the Anglicans bowed their heads, and there was a long moment of silence.

Then the hen lifted her head. “But we gather also in celebration. We celebrate that our good king has joined his forefathers and is reunited with his beloved wife. We celebrate all the good he did our kingdom.

“But most of all, we celebrate his daughter, the princess Bellemistis, who after so tragic a loss, shall ascend the throne today. Let us, as a people, help to lift her wings. Let us help her to soar.”

There were smiles and a good deal of applause.

The hen smiled too. “Announcing the princess, Bellemistis.”

The doors at the back of the hall opened, and all heads turned to look.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and it was not a happy kind of murmur. Not the sound of a nation viewing their new ruler.

This sounded horrified.

Gasps echoed in the hall. People turned to their neighbors and whispered things. A child spoke, loudly, but not close enough to be understood.  

“She’s supposed to fly down aisle,” Lancelot said. “Why isn’t she flying?”

Merlin stood on tiptoes, trying to see. In front of him, Freya was too. Suddenly she caught sight of the Anglican princess and gasped.

“What?” Merlin hissed.

Freya looked at him and gave the slightest shake of her head.

Merlin glanced back at Morgana. “Can you see her?” he whispered.

“No,” Morgana replied. “But something is—.” She broke off, her eyes wide.

Merlin snapped his head around and his heart stopped.

Bellemistis walked with her wings out and her head high. Her eyes were locked on the throne.

But she did not look right.

Her once long, white hair had been chopped so short it stuck up above her head. There were purple bruises on her neck and cheeks, and a dozen fainter, greener ones. She was too thin. Huge chunks of feathers were missing from her wings. One of them had an awkward bend.

“Oh my god,” Morgana whispered. “What _happened_ to her?”

Merlin watched her limp past, as dignified as she could look. She carefully stepped up the seven little steps to the platform, turned around, and faced the assembly.

The look on her face was terrifying. Her eyes had sunken far into her head and were outlined by blue-black circles. Her lips were vibrantly red. She had a nasty bruise on her right cheek that Merlin hadn’t seen before. It looked like someone’s knuckles.

Bellemistis looked at the crowd as if she meant to kill them.

“I,” she said, and the single syllable echoed on all the speakers and put the room into a grave silence, “Bellemistis, princess of the Anglicans, do take my father’s throne. I vow to rule with the same wisdom and grace of my father before me. I swear by all the angels and the Lord Himself to protect my people, that my people will always come first. I swear this by the angel Hesediel, the angel Jegudiel, and the angel Adriel.”

Again, the crowd was uneasy. Merlin saw two Anglican hens whisper to each other with concern in their eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin whispered.

“I don’t know,” Morgana replied.

“It’s the angels she chose,” Lancelot said quietly. “Hesediel and Jegudiel are angels of peace and love, but Adriel is the angel of death.”

“Kneel, princess,” the hen commanded.

Bellemistis kept her back straight and knelt.

The hen was brought a pillow on which rested the Anglican crown. It was golden, thin, and had a pair of wings extending from the white jewel in the center.

“Bellemistis,” the hen said as she placed the crown on Bellemistis’s head, “we hail you as our queen. May your wings carry us all to greater heights.”

Bellemistis stood, wings out. Merlin saw her fists clench.

The hen stepped back. “Queen Bellemistis! Together we soar!”

“ _Together we soar!_ ” the crowd repeated.

Bellemistis turned, and her dress trailed gold behind her. She sat down on the throne, pulled her wings in slightly, and gazed over the assembly.

“Everyone, please file out of the hall and into the grand courtyard,” the hen said. “It is time for the coronation ball.”

* * *

Merlin’s plan had been to run right up the steps and whisk Bellemistis away from all these prying eyes and find out _what_ was _wrong,_ but the milling crowd soon got in his way and he had to wait.

Somehow, he ended up in the courtyard, surrounded by the Camelotian royal family and its entourage.

“So what usually happens during these balls?” Arthur asked.

“A good deal of dancing,” Uther said. “And I expect you to dance with the new queen.”

Arthur said, “And with the Druid representative as well, Father?”

It sounded innocent enough, but anyone with practiced ears could hear the defiance in Arthur’s tone. Merlin couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Morgana gripped his arm in fear.

Uther looked at Arthur, and it was as if his face was in shadow. “I don’t think you need an answer to that question, Arthur.”

Merlin watched as Arthur matched his father’s expression, eyes hard. But the mortal prince did not say anything. He blinked and flicked his gaze away from the king, but his face did not change.

“Morgana,” Uther said, “you will dance with—.”

“I will dance with whomever I please,” Morgana said, and then she dragged Merlin away.

Merlin let her place his hands on her waist and shoulder, and awkwardly led the dance. “I have to talk to Bellemistis,” he murmured.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Morgana demanded. On instinct Merlin pulled back, but her grip was firm. “Merlin! You’re acting weird!”

Merlin looked at her, and instead of regal command he saw worry and fear. He pursed his lips and tried to think of a convincing lie. “I just… really need to talk to Bellemistis,” he said lamely.

Morgana looked at him, scrutinizing. Suddenly her mouth popped open in a little “o” and she dropped her hands and stepped back. “Oh,” she said. Her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, I… um. I’m sorry, I just thought—I thought that—.” She shook her head. “I need water.” Morgana scurried off into the crowd and disappeared.

Merlin was left standing still in the midst of the dance, confused.

“Merlin!” someone hissed.

Merlin turned. “Gwen!” he said. “Oh, I am _glad_ to see you. Have you seen Bellemistis?”

“Arthur just asked her to dance. They’re over by the water fountain. But, Merlin,” Gwen looked concerned. “Lancelot asked me to dance with him.”

Merlin tried not to laugh. “And so you’re hiding by the food?” 

Gwen grimaced. “Yes, I am. I just… oh, I don’t know! I feel confused.” She gasped and ducked. “There he is!” she whispered.

“Hello, Merlin,” Lancelot said. He had an odd look on his face, like he was sad but trying not to show it. “You, um, haven’t seen Gwen around here, have you?”

Like a good friend, Merlin shook his head. Lancelot nodded. “Well. If you see her, tell her I would like to speak with her.”

“Of course,” Merlin said. Lancelot stood there awkwardly for a moment, then melted off into the crowd. Merlin let out a sigh of relief, not for Gwen, but for himself. Finally Lancelot was distracted enough to not be breathing down his neck.

Ten minutes later and Merlin had done little other than snack on the cream puffs. Whenever he heard the music stop, he applauded with everyone else.

“Enjoying the dance?”

Merlin looked up, and saw the Anglican knight, Jay, that had helped him the day before. He was shirtless again, but with an ornate sash across his chest and feathers dangling from his hair. “I mean, I haven’t danced yet,” Merlin said with a shrug.

“Shame,” Jay said, and he was standing very close to Merlin. “That was a good song to dance to.” Too close. Merlin started to feel nervous, the kind of nervous he only ever felt around Morgana.

Then Jay leaned close, so that he could feel his breath in his ear. “The queen would like to see you.”

Merlin’s jovial smile fell and Jay drew back. “Come on,” the knight said, winking. “Got something to show you.” He ruffled his feathers and led Merlin away from the main courtyard. Merlin followed without hesitation.

Jay showed him to a second, smaller garden Merlin, consisting of fruit trees, rose bushes, and a heavily-shaded gazebo. Merlin hurried over a tiny bridge and into the gazebo, and his eyes took a minute to adjust from the sunlight to the shade.

“Merlin!”

Merlin felt like he had been waiting a million years just to hear that voice. “Bellemistis.”

She came up to him, her white dress stark and bright. She reached out and took both his hands, and Merlin looked at her.

Her makeup was heavy, but it couldn’t hide those bruises. Now that he was close, he could see that her left eyebrow was swollen, and there was a split in her lip concealed by her lipstick. She looked so small and frail.

“Bellemistis, what happened?” he murmured. Gently, he reached up and touched her face. She flinched. The movement made Merlin feel ill.

Bellemistis closed her eyes and recovered. “Merlin, I can’t tell you everything now. There isn’t time. We need to get back.” She glanced back at Jay. “He will come for you tonight and bring you to me.”

“No, Bellemistis, what happened?” Merlin’s tone was demanding now. “Who did this to you?”

Bellemistis looked at him. She searched his eyes, then she gently cupped the sides of his face. “My father,” she whispered, and she kissed him.

Merlin knew exactly what this was—this was a secret he could not share. She was sealing his lips until she could tell him more.

It was over quickly. When she pulled away, she moved away entirely. She did not look scared, but lost. Perhaps she wanted to cry, but her eyes looked so dry. “Tonight,” she said. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Merlin nodded. Bellemistis touched Jay’s arm and they left the garden together. Merlin waited until they were out of sight before following.

He rejoined the party, but he felt out of sorts. King Avious had done all that to Bellemistis? Why? He had seemed so nice! And he had loved his daughter, hadn’t he? What would cause him to do that to her?

Merlin felt eyes on him, and he glanced up. Morgana was staring at him, her expression horrified. Merlin realized Bellemistis’s lipstick was still on his mouth and he hurried to wipe it on the back of his hand. Morgana quickly looked away and sped off into the crowd.

Merlin, for all his faults, realized that, this time, he had screwed up.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Merlin turned, and there was Freya, her lips in a tight line. “Would you dance with me?” she asked.

Merlin made a face. “Now’s not the best time—.”

“Lovely.” Freya took his hand and shoulder and backed him onto the dance floor. The violins picked up and Freya took them into a twirl. “We need to talk,” she said quietly.

“Couldn’t we have done it sitting down?” Merlin grumbled. “Remember how my dancing was at thirteen? Hasn’t improved.”

Freya raised an eyebrow like she couldn’t argue, then shook her head. “Look, Merlin, I need to know what your plan is. In case the worst happens.”

Merlin stumbled and pushed Freya into another dancing couple. They ruffled their wings and skittered away. “What do you mean,” Merlin hissed.

“You know what I mean.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Freya fixed him with a hard gaze. “Listen,” she said, “you are walking a very thin line. If it is discovered you spent time as the mortal prince’s lackey, neither side will want you. Even if you are the fabled savior.”

“I… I know.”

“If you know, I take it you have a plan, yes?”

Merlin looked at her. “I’m not ready for him to die,” he breathed. “I’m so happy here, with Arthur and Mor—.”

“Arthur?” Freya’s brows knit. He could see the thoughts thrumming behind her eyes. Her mouth opened slightly, and her eyes narrowed.

“What?”

Freya hesitated. “Merlin do… do you fancy men?”

This time Merlin stepped wrong and put his foot on of Freya’s, causing her to nearly fall backwards. Merlin caught his balance and yanked her upright. They quickly fell back in time with the dance, but the damage was done.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Merlin whispered.

“I just—!” Freya bit her lip. “I saw you leave the ball with that Anglican knight. And everyone knows he’s a harpy.”

“A what?”

Freya grimaced. “He… he likes men! He’s not straight! If Avious had ever known what he was he would have plucked the feathers from his back.” She shrugged. “Luckily the king was oblivious.”

Merlin blinked. “N-no! I’m not a harpy. I—.” Merlin suddenly felt very strange. “I. Um.” Him? Like men? Honestly the thought had never occurred to Merlin, and since meeting Morgana, he hadn’t had to consider much else. But… he loved Morgana! He did!

And yet something in what Freya had said made Merlin feel a little more… something.

He gave a painful swallow. “I don’t think I want to dance anymore.” He dropped his hands and stopped.

Freya stopped with him, and they stood like rocks in a stream. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, Merlin, I’m so… I apologize. That was not my place.” She gave a brief, awkward curtsy and left him alone in the crowd.

* * *

 

Merlin really wished the ball would end. He had spent the last two hours sitting at a table and making trips to and from the dessert table, and wrestling with what new demons Freya had conjured up inside him.

“Hello Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin looked up and watched the mortal prince sit down with an exasperated expression. “Having fun?”

 _Lackey,_ Merlin thought, and he felt like there was a stone in his stomach. “Not particularly.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nor I,” he said. “All this time and I can’t even find Guinevere. You know this would be the perfect time to dance with her.”

“Your father wouldn’t like it.”

“Fuck him,” Arthur said. He looked at Merlin. “I can dance with whomever I please.”

Merlin smiled. “You sound like your sister.”

Arthur smiled too, but it fell a moment later. “Speaking of Morgana, where is she? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Merlin glanced at his crumb-covered plate. “I think I’ve upset her.”

Arthur made _tsk_ noises. “Shouldn’t do that. Morgana the upset sister is one thing, but Morgana the upset girlfriend is something else entirely.”

“She’s not my—.” Merlin sighed. “I think she thinks me and Bellemistis are… together.”

Arthur frowned. “What?” he said. “But you’re dating!”

“We’re _not_ dating, Arthur.”

Arthur gaped. “So I’ve been keeping a nonexistent relationship secret from my father all this time?”

Merlin gave up. “Look, there’s Gwen,” he said, pointing.

Arthur glanced over and sat up straighter. “Guinevere!”

“Hello,” said Gwen. “What are you boys doing?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Arthur got to his feet. “Er, Guinevere, would you care to dance with me?”

Gwen’s eyes widened and she smiled. “Why, Prince Arthur,” she said. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Arthur’s whole face turned piglet pink. Merlin snorted. Arthur swatted at him. “Shall we?” he said, bowing.

Gwen giggled and took his hand.

Merlin watched them with a small smile. They were so nervous around each other. Arthur knew how to dance so well, however, that soon they were both twirling and grinning with their eyes alight.

“Merlin.”

Merlin jumped. Sir Jay was right behind him, standing at attention. “The queen has retired to her chambers. Please follow me.”

Jay walked away, and Merlin hesitated. Freya’s words echoed in his ears. His heart sped up. Then he stood and followed the Anglican knight away from the party. 


	18. The Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god it's been like 2 years since i published a new chapter and would you believe i have been working on this chapter nonstop since then?? I graduated college in the time it took to write this damn chapter. And i cut it short because i'm sick of not updating so i can work on the next bit so there will be another chapter soon okay? Thank you guys so much for sticking around!! I love you all very much and I hope you like this chapter.

_From_ Encyclopedia of Druid, _fourth ed.,_

_As magic leaves a trace, it is nearly impossible for a Druid to use magic to murder, especially with the advances of modern forensics (both Mortal and Druid). There are a few famous cases of unsolved crime, none moreso than the murder of Howldred, a mage under the current king Balinor._

* * *

 

Sir Jay led Merlin to the same garden with the gazebo. “All right,” he said. “You need to hang on to my neck, and I’ll fly you up there.”

Merlin really wished he could teleport himself, but he hadn’t been to Bellemistis’s chambers before. Reluctantly, he put his arms around Jay’s neck and grew warm at their closeness. Jay whipped out his wings and they ascended with one powerful thrust.

It was unlike anything Merlin had ever experienced. His stomach was left on the ground, and he should have closed his eyes but he couldn’t. He clung to Jay.

It was over far too soon. They landed gently just inside one of those great windows, at the top of the leftmost tower.

“Merlin!” Bellemistis said. She looked at Jay. “Sir knight, I must ask you to stand guard outside.”

Jay nodded and flew to just outside the window. Merlin could see him hovering in the open air.

Bellemistis took Merlin by the hands and led him to a set of chairs. Her chambers were spacious, big enough to fly in, with lots of perches all over the walls where birds were nesting. Her bed was rather small, and had no canopy. Above it, the tower roof opened up, and Merlin could see sky.

They sat down, and Bellemistis scooted her chair closer to his. “I’m going to tell you everything, Merlin,” she said. “And after that, I have a favor to ask you.” She closed her eyes. “But first things first.”

Bellemistis took a deep breath. The setting sun was the only light, and he could almost forget her bruises like this.

“After our visit to Camelot,” she said, “Father was upset that I wouldn’t be marrying the mortal prince. He tried setting up a visit with, well, with you, but Balinor said that wasn’t possible. And he wanted me to meet some of the rich families in America, but the plans fell through because…” She trailed off. Merlin could feel her shaking. He placed another hand on hers.

Bellemistis took a shaky breath. “Because I realized that I’m a harpy, Merlin. After kissing you in the gardens, I was… curious. And one of the younger hens who tended to me, Dove… One night she was helping me dress and I kissed her, Merlin.

“After that, we grew very close. And we were careful. But we were caught, of course. And in his rage my father…” She gestured to her face. “He hit me. He sliced off all my hair. Said if I wanted to be a cock so bad I might as well look like one. And I tried to fight, but—Merlin he clipped my wings.” She broke into sobs. “And I don’t know what happened to Dove. I can’t find her. I was so afraid, I had to do something.”

Merlin waited, but Bellemistis pulled her hand away from him. She covered her face with it, and winced when she touched the bruise on her cheek. “Where did you get the poison,” Merlin asked gently.

Bellemistis’ shoulders shook. “The matron hen,” she said. “She gave it to me. And that night I went to my father to… to do it. I watched him drink it. And when he stopped… st-stopped…” She wiped her face and looked at Merlin. “I called the guards. I told them he took a drink and started choking. And they didn’t ask anything else.” She began shaking. “He would have killed me, Merlin. I know he would’ve!”

“I know, I know,” Merlin said, and he pulled her close. “It’s okay. You had to. I’m glad you did.”

“I’m a monster!” she sobbed. “I have disgraced my Anglican name!”

“Bellemistis!” Merlin cried. He gripped her firmly by the shoulders. “Your father disgraced his name when he did this to you. When he cut your hair and he hit you—that was the disgrace.”

“No,” Bellemistis whispered. “I disgraced my name when I kissed Dove.”

Merlin felt the silence descend on them like a dark magic. He took Bellemistis’s hand. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he assured her. “What was wrong was that your father cut your wings and drew your blood. He _hurt_ you.” He put his arm around her. “And no matter who you love, you will make a great queen.” And maybe these words were for him too.

Bellemistis swallowed and wiped her face. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ve been just… focusing on how I will rule. And I know—I _know_ no one under my rule will suffer as I did under my father. And history precedes me. I need no king.” She pulled away from him. “But I do need something from you. I have an old friend, one who I recently learned is Druid. I need your help.”

* * *

 

The party was not over, even without the queen. Firefly lights kept the gardens lit, and Morgana, from her pillow seat on a perch in one of the trees, could see her brother twirling Gwen about the floor. Arthur wasn’t that great of a dancer, but he made up for it in enthusiasm.

Merlin had disappeared with the Anglican knight a few minutes ago. Morgana was still chastising herself over her crush, with the help of a bottle of champagne. It had been stupid of her. She hadn’t realized Merlin was the kind of person looking to elevate himself, but, well, he had dropped her for the Anglican queen, hadn’t he? She bitterly downed the last half of her champagne glass and refilled it.

“My lady.”

Morgana glanced down. Morgause was staring up at her. “Oh,” she replied, “hullo.”

“My lady, we need to talk.”

Morgana shrugged and patted the branch next to her. Morgause, despite her look of displeasure, climbed up nimbly. “What’s up,” Morgana said.

Morgause took her hand and met Morgana’s eyes. Morgana pulled her champagne glass from her lips. “I see you’re still wearing the bracelet I gave you,” said Morgause. “Has it worked well for you?”

Morgana paused. “I guess… it’s worked so well I’d forgotten what the issue was.”

“Surely you’ve figured out what it is, then?” Morgause leaned forward. “What _I_ am?”

Morgana pulled her hand away. “I think you should rethink this conversation,” she said curtly.

“Morgana,” Morgause whispered, “I didn’t want to rush this but I fear we are running short on time. Something big is happening. I can feel it. Surely you can too.”

“Sir knight,” Morgana replied, equally severe, “I think you should know that what you’re saying sounds dangerously close to treason!”

“ _We are treason._ ” Morgause held her gaze in a way that was oddly sobering. “You and I. Everything about us. Our abilities. Our mother. Our very _existence._ ” Her eyes were shining and scared. “Surely you see that?”

Morgana’s heart felt tight in her chest. “Our mother,” she repeated, hollow.

Morgause nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “ _Our_ mother.”

* * *

 

Merlin said, “I can’t do anything. Lancelot is suspicious. I can’t get caught. But… Freya. The Druid representative. She can help.”

“Do you think she would?”

“Yeah, uh, we were betrothed once.” Merlin blushed. “If you tell her I asked her to, she’ll do it. Who is this Druid? How did he get here?”

Bellemistis reached under her bed and pulled out a laptop with feather decals. “He’s my cousin on my mother’s side.”

“He’s Anglican?”

“Half,” Bellemistis said. Merlin sat down next to her again and looked over her shoulder at the screen. “His father was Druid. One of your father’s mages. Howldred.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped. “Howldred?”

“You know him, of course.”

“He was murdered when I was ten,” Merlin said. He remembered the chaos, the panic, and finding out from eavesdropping on the mages’ meeting that the great Howldred’s corpse had been found in the palace courtyard. “It was… it was awful.”

Bellemistis nodded. “I couldn’t find much online, because you Druids hate technology. Please move the ancient libraries to digital when you become king.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Anyways,” Bellemistis said. “His son, Morris, is grounded. Which means he was born without wings. His mother recently passed away. I want him to go to the Druids and learn to control his magic.”

Merlin nodded. “Talk to Freya. She can get him to the Druid kingdom and see that he is looked after.”

Bellemistis nodded. “I’m glad. Merlin, this means so much to me. I am indebted to you, for this, for your friendship and encouragement. It’s been so important to me to have you here. Do you have Facebook yet? Can you text?”

Merlin grimaced. “I haven’t even been to the cinema.”

“What!” Bellemistis looked appalled. “You have to go. Take Morgana. Make it a date.” She winked. Merlin blushed. “Anyways,” she said. “You should go. You’ll be missed.” She embraced him, and holding her Merlin felt how fragile her bones were, how broken she still was.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. He pulled away and bowed slightly. “Queen Bellemistis.”

She giggled. “That’s right. I outrank you now.” She bit her lip, and her smile faltered. “Merin. You need to know there are dark clouds on the horizon. And the sun is setting sooner than we think.”

Merlin smiled a little. “More poetry?”

Bellemistis thought about it. “No, but I suppose it should be. But tensions are high. You’re in a precarious position. Just… be careful.”

* * *

 

The flight back to Camelot was not nearly as bad as the flight from, but Merlin was terribly anxious. Was his father all right? He forced himself to calm down, to be ready to siphon magic off to his father the moment they landed.  

When they finally touched down on mortal soil, Merlin was nearly bursting out of his skin. It was torture to wait for King Uther to leave the plane first.

There were several knights waiting for them on the tarmac, including Leon. All of them bowed as Uther approached, but Leon quickly straightened up. “My lord,” he said. “We tried to reach you before you left, but you were already in the air.”

“What happened?” Uther said.

“The Druid King, sire,” Leon said, and Merlin’s heart stopped. “He passed away this morning.”

“What?” Arthur said.

Leon cleared his throat. “Balinor is dead.”

Merlin heard him, but did not understand. It wasn’t possible. A different Balinor. A different Druid King, surely. A peculiar feeling started in his stomach and spread through him, to the toes in his shoes to the crown of his head. It was cold, as if he had been submerged in ice water. For a moment, his eyesight wavered and the colors drained.

Someone touched Merlin’s arm, and he wanted to turn his head, but he was stuck. His mind was frozen. Their voice was gentle, but muted. Somehow, Merlin brushed them away. He opened his mouth and realized he had no tongue with which to speak. When the group moved, his legs followed, but Merlin no longer felt the ground beneath his feet, and the air around him was too thin to breathe. But he knew—he _knew_ —he had to stay calm. It was surprisingly easy, because all his energy had been sucked into the earth. He could hardly keep his head up.

_Emrys._

Merlin jolted. The dragon. It was close.

_I am so very sorry._

Merlin’s vision came back into focus and his in-flight meal nearly came back up his throat. He lifted his head and stared out the car window, in case his eyes betrayed him. _You killed him,_ he told it. _It’s your fault._

The dragon did not reply, but Merlin could feel its presence. His father was dead. His poor mother.

“Do not test me.”

Merlin looked back at the people in the car with him. Uther scowled at his children. Morgana looked livid, while Arthur refused to look at him. “ _Test_ you?” Morgana whispered.

“He was an enemy,” Uther said. “Better now than later.” Morgana glared, and he sighed. “People die all the time, Morgana.”

“You as good as killed him,” she snapped.

Uther stared. “I will do anything to keep you and this country safe.”

Arthur made a small noise but kept his gaze on the window. Uther’s attention turned to him. “Would you like to say something, Arthur?”

Arthur looked at his father, swallowed, and said nothing.

“When you are king,” Uther said, his voice low, “you will be given choices that are not easy, or moral, or good. But you must always, _always_ do what is best for your people. You can kill your enemy or you can let your enemy kill your people. Remember that, Arthur. You must put our people first.”

After a long while, Arthur nodded. Morgana stared at him.

Merlin was not sure how much longer he could be in the same country as the man who had killed his father, let alone the same car. But moments later the car pulled into the castle grounds, and the doors were opening, and he neglected protocol and scrambled out first.

“Merlin!” Arthur called. He clambered out after him. Morgana stalked away from the car and Uther, heading towards the castle. Morgause followed her. “Merlin, where are you going?”

Merlin said, “To Gaius.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and spoke in a low voice. “I know you’re upset,” he said, “but you look suspicious. Calm down.”

“I feel ill,” Merlin replied, because it was true. Arthur might have said something else, but Merlin was already walking away.

* * *

 

Arthur watched Merlin go, brow furrowed. He was about to go after him when Leon touched his arm. “My lord,” the head knight said, voice low, “may I speak with you?”

Arthur looked around. Uther was just stepping into the castle. The other knights had been sent away. It was just Arthur and Leon. “Of course,” he said.

Leon reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out an envelope. “While you were away, we received this envelope, addressed to your father.” Leon looked ashamed. “It had no return address, and it looked suspicious, so we opened it to check for anything dangerous, and… well, I think you should look at it.”

Arthur hesitated, but took the envelope and removed its contents. He was holding photos of Merlin embracing the Druid queen on one of the palace balconies.

“You understand,” Leon said, “why I wanted you to see them first.”

Arthur flipped through them. More photos of Merlin and the queen acting familiar. His lungs felt like they had no air. “Leon,” he said, “what does this mean?”

Leon whispered, “If he were truly magic, the sensors would be set off.”

Arthur nodded, but swallowed. “They may have a way around it.”

“We’ll look into it,” the knight replied. “But right now we don’t know.”

“What was Merlin doing there anyway?” Arthur exclaimed, struggling to keep his voice low.

Leon shifted. “He came after the trial, saying you sent him. I let him in.”

Arthur took a shuddering breath. “They know each other,” he said. But then his eyes lit up. “But Balinor didn’t know him. When I took him to the Druid king to heal him, Balinor didn’t know him.” Arthur pushed the side of his mind telling him his reasoning was weak far into the corner. “So… maybe they know each other from the mortal side? Queen Hunith was born in Ealdor, and so was Merlin.”

Leon looked uncertain. “My lord, what would you like me to do?”

“Is this the only copy of the photos?” Arthur asked. Leon nodded, and Arthur gripped them a little tighter. “Then I’ll keep them. Say nothing to my father, Leon. Merlin is my friend. I don’t want to think about what he might do to him if he saw these. And I want you to find the source and make sure these photos won’t resurface again.”

Leon nodded earnestly. “Of course, Prince Arthur. I thought you’d say something like that.”


	19. The Last Night

_From_ Encyclopedia of Druid,  _fourth ed._

_Prophecies come from dragons. Priestesses can sometimes interpret things from the cosmos and the natural world, and derive clues, but only words from a dragon’s mouth are considered true prophecy. The most recent prophecy was in 1957, and spoke of “the once and future king.” These words have been seen before, in 700 AD, 1330, 1500, and 1845. Most prophecies remain mysteries._

_Recently, the Druid prince was revealed to bear the name Emrys, who was spoken of in prophecy in 1867. I have included the original priestess recording of the prophecy:_

_When blood runs thin, there will be hearts twinned, one holy and one cursed, stronger than any yet equally versed. One is Emrys, born in the day, the other of night, and will be called Fay._

_Currently, there is no Druid on record with the name Fay._

* * *

 

 

Morgana intended to slam her chamber door shut behind her, but Morgause caught it and stepped inside. “Morgana,” she said. “It’s worse than I feared. The time is upon us.”

Morgana whirled around. “Us? _Us?_ ” She stared at her, willing her to feel her grief and leave her be. “There is no us.”

“We are sisters,” Morgause replied helplessly. “Please, Morgana, listen—.”

“No!” Morgana cried. “I’m not! We’re not sisters! My mother was a courtesan. A mortal. I am mortal. I am mortal.”

Morgause looked as if Morgana had struck her. “How can you bear to lie to yourself like this?” she said. “How can you deny yourself?”

“I am _mortal!_ ”

Morgause grabbed Morgana and forced her to look in the mirror. “Look at us,” she whispered, her voice hot on her ear. “Look at your cheeks, your chin, the shape of your eyes. Look at mine! We share blood. We shared a mother.” Her voice broke, and she looked away for a moment, blinking. “And we share the same golden eyes of the Druids.”

“I do not.” But it was feeble even to Morgana’s ears.

“When you were born our mother, weak as she was, held you up to the pale light of the full moon. She had had a vision of you, tall and raven-haired, that you were the one spoken of in prophecies.” Morgause held her gaze in the mirror. “You were never christened,” she said. “You were taken by Uther’s men before she could learn you dragon-given name.” Morgause broke her gaze, her breath on her cheek. “Would you like to learn your name, sister?”

Morgana had fear in heart. Fear for what was to come, and what she would leave behind. She was standing on the precipice. If she had a name, and if she spoke it, she would tumble over the edge, and never return to this life now.

Morgana said, “What is your name.”

Morgause met her eyes again in the mirror. “Haelway,” she said. The word was like the first gust of a storm, blowing against her cheek. Her eyes lit up with a glint of silver, only for a moment, and then faded back to gray.

“Haelway,” she repeated. She nodded. “I am ready to learn my name.”

* * *

 

Merlin did not go to Gaius. He waited until he was out of sight and jumped to the corridor outside his father’s sick room. There were guards outside. Merlin whispered the strongest incantation of invisibility he could muster and managed to slip past them, despite the pain their anti-magic cloaks stabbed into his brain.

The room was empty, the curtains drawn, and there was a body under a white sheet. Merlin approached it slowly. It was a trick. A clever escape. He did not want to know. He had to know.

Merlin pinched the corner of the sheet in his unseen fingers. There was that icy feeling again. He made himself pull, hard, do it fast like a bandaid, and the sheet was pulled away and sliding to the ground with hardly a sound.

Merlin choked down his cry. King Balinor lay before him, his body pale, his eyes closed. He had not yet been anointed with the sacred oils of the Druids. His skin was pasty and unreal. It was all so unreal.

He held his father’s cold, cold hand, the fingers already stiff. Merlin kissed them. He kissed his father’s cheek. What was the last thing they had said to one another? Balinor hadn’t spoken since the dragon attack. Had Hunith said goodbye? Did the Druids know yet? Did the world weep for so great a man?

He magicked a chair over to him and began his vigil, holding tight to his father’s hand.

* * *

 

The only light in Morgana’s chamber was the candles floating by the mirror. Morgana stood in front of it, barely seeing her reflection. Morgause appeared behind her, and in the candlelight Morgana saw the glint of a blade.

“Do you trust me?” Morgause murmured. Morgana nodded. “Then I need you to take off your shirt.”

Morgana glanced at her. “Is this going to be weirdly sexual?” she joked, but her smile was strained and her heart was pounding.

“It’s normally done at birth, so, it’s not supposed to be.” Morgause smiled back. “I have to cut your hand.”

Morgana met her reflection’s eyes while she undid her top and steeled herself. “Do it.”

She felt the other woman’s cold hand on her right, turning the palm upwards and readying the knife. “ _Ágennama,_ ” she said, her voice low and strong, “ _ácýðest._ ”

There was pain enough to make Morgana gasp, and she looked down to see blood shining on her hand, shining with the colored, oily sheen of magic, and her heart stuffed up her throat and she felt lightheaded, but Morgause held her wrist and placed the bleeding palm against Morgana’s heart.

“Look in the mirror,” Morgause instructed, and Morgana did, anything to stop the panic that was closing up her windpipe.

And then there was light, glowing silver on the back of her hand. “Oh god,” Morgana whispered. It was a strange symbol, some sort of ancient rune, that reminded Morgana of claw scratches on her skin.

“It’s you,” Morgause breathed. “You are. You’re _Fay._ ”

“Fay?” Morgana repeated, and in the mirror she saw her eyes light up with the same silver on her hand. And then they faded, both her eyes and hand. Morgana jerked her hand away, the blood sticky on her chest.

“Fay,” Morgause said. She had a bandage and alcohol to clean the cut. “You, my sister, have been spoken of in prophecies for as long as Emrys has. You have powers that even he cannot fathom. A Seer. It’s incredible.”

Morgana’s legs felt weak, and she sat down on the carpet. Briefly, she recalled the many times she had done her homework there, with Merlin. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” A prophecy? Oh no. She could hardly handle being a witch. Please, let there be no prophecy, no destiny hanging over her head.

Morgause knelt in front of her and wrapped up her hand. “The Druid people have been persecuted for too long, sister. We served in the mortal king’s court. There was a Great Purge. We went into hiding. There was a second one. Now we have created our own nation, left the mortals to do as they please, and still. Still they hunt us!” Morgause cupped Morgana’s head in her hand. “If they knew what you were, they would hunt you too.”

Morgana felt a tightening in her chest. Arthur wouldn’t. Gwen wouldn’t. Uther…

Uther would.

Morgana recalled how the king hosted hunts in the woods between Camelot and the Druid border. The torture he had ordered against the nurse in the hospital. Uther _would._

Morgause helped her to her feet. “You,” she said, “are the shining hope the Druids have been waiting for. You will lead us to a bright new era. It has been foretold. The priestesses believed it. Our mother believed it. _I_ believe it.” Suddenly she embraced her. “I’ll be here with you. Together we can fulfill your destiny.”

Morgana held her tight. _Uther would,_ she thought.

“We have to leave, sister. The Druid King is dead. The time is upon us. We must act.”

Morgana nodded. Her sister was right. No more being shut away in this tower. No more medication. Time to embrace her destiny.

Time to become Fay.

* * *

 

Gaius bowed low, which Arthur thought was unusual. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “But I haven’t seen Merlin since he left for the Anglican Kingdom. I assumed he was… with you.”

Arthur peered past Gaius. Gaius stood firm in the doorway.

“Well, I’m looking for him,” he said loudly. “It’s very important. Please let me know when he comes home.”

Gaius nodded, and went to close the door. “Wait,” someone called. A woman.

Merlin’s mother appeared behind Gaius. She wore pajamas, and her hair was up. She looked… scared. “Prince Arthur,” she said, and she curtsied.

“Yes, um, Harriet, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “If you find my son, would you tell him I’m here?”

Arthur took in her puffy eyes and slumped shoulders, and agreed he would as soon as he found him.

He left the clinic. When he got close to citadel, a throng of reporters saw him, and it took all his self-control not to run the other way.

“Prince Arthur! Prince Arthur, can you confirm that the Druid king is dead?” one asked, microphone practically up his nose.

Arthur said nothing and started pushing through them.

“Was it murder? Will the Druid nation declare war?”

“How do you respond to rumors that the Anglican king was murdered?”

“Do you support your father’s decision to bar Queen Hunith from seeing her husband’s body?”

Arthur whipped his head towards the reporter, and the silence all around him told him that he had reacted too much. He turned and pushed his way past the press line. A guard opened the gate and closed it after him.

He damn near ran to the castle, hands in his pockets so he didn’t look to be in a rush. He took the steps two at a time and booked it across the upper south corridor, heading to his father’s study. He rounded a corner and nearly took his sister out.

“Morgana!” he cried, and Morgana yelped. Arthur’s heart was pounding. “Morgana, oh god, Morgana, Father… he’s… he’s barred the Druid Queen from seeing Balinor’s body.”

Morgana looked at him with fear in her eyes. Arthur waited for her response, but she merely opened her mouth and held a black cloak tight against her body.

Arthur shook his head. “And I can’t find Merlin. He’s gone. I’m really…” He took a deep breath and realized just how stressed he was. “Can you come with me?” he asked. “To Father?”

Morgana swallowed and reached up to tuck some stray hair behind her ear. Arthur saw a large white bandage on her hand. “Did you cut yourself?” he asked.

Immediately her hand was hidden under the cloak. “No. Yes. I, um, dropped a glass.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t come with you, Arthur. I’m sorry. I’m just… not feeling very well. I have to go.”

Arthur stepped aside as Morgana rushed past him, but she suddenly turned on her heel and hugged him with all her might. Arthur was taken aback. He hugged her back, and she held onto him for dear life.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” Arthur replied.

Morgana pulled back, nodded once, and hurried away. Arthur was left to confront his father alone.

* * *

 

Merlin, alone in the chamber with King Balinor’s body, held tight to his father’s hand. Terrible thoughts plagued his mind, reminding him how the death before him was his fault, that had he not been so stupid, his father would be safe at home in the Palais Rouge…

The door opened suddenly, making him jump. He turned, safely unseen under a spell of invisibility, and saw Morgana in the doorway.

She entered the room, followed by the tall knight Morgause. Both of them were dressed in dark jeans and sweatshirts. Morgana wore her running shoes.

Morgause grabbed Morgana’s hand and stopped her. “There is someone here,” she said.

Merlin hesitated only a moment before he let the spell go.

Morgana gasped. Morgause merely narrowed her eyes. “I knew it,” she murmured.

Merlin had known she was Druid too, especially with the bracelet he could see on Morgana’s wrist. “What are you doing here?” he said, and his voice was broken.

“Paying our respects, same as you, brother,” Morgause replied. “It is a sad day for all of us.”

Merlin nodded. They didn’t suspect him to be Emrys. He let go of his father’s stiff hand. “Please,” he said, and he gestured for them to come forward.

Morgause did. In a few loping steps she knelt at the Druid King’s side and bowed her head in what Merlin recognized as priestess prayer. Morgause, he realized, was probably more powerful than he had initially thought.

When she straightened up, she pulled a small pouch from her duffel bag and sprinkled its contents on Balinor’s chest. Part of the blessing normally performed at the funeral service.

Oh yes, Merlin thought. She has had priestess training.

Morgause bowed briefly, and stepped back. “It’s all I can do,” she said. “In case he can’t go home.” She glanced back at Morgana and jerked her head toward the Druid king.

Morgana hurried to kneel. Merlin stared. She had no idea what she was doing, having been schooled in the religion of the mortals, but she prayed all the same. Then she stood and faced Merlin.

“Morgana,” Morgause called from the doorway.

“A moment,” Morgana replied, but it lacked her usual confidence. She did not look away from Merlin.

Morgause stepped back inside and closed the door behind her.

Morgana looked distressed at the lack of privacy. She grabbed Merlin’s hand and brought him out on the balcony, the same balcony where he had spoken with his mother not a week ago.

The night was cool. Merlin stood there and waited. Morgana was unable to stand still, and her braid whipped around her head as she paced in little circles.

Suddenly, she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her voice was much too loud for being outside in the night. “I was scared,” Merlin murmured.

“I needed help!” she cried. She paused, then continued, quieter, “I needed someone. And you kept this secret.”

Merlin recalled Morgana gripping his wrist, looking up at him with desperate eyes. _I have magic._ And what had he done? Gone running to a dragon, and gotten enchanted, and then set the dragon free, and…

Merlin wiped at his cheeks. “I should have been there for you, Morgana.” He ran a hand through his hair and considered, briefly, what the dragon that Called him had told him. That he was cursed. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Morgana said, “I’m leaving, Merlin.”

Merlin said nothing. The silence was heavy.

“I have to,” she continued. “I don’t belong in the mortal kingdom. I… I never have.” Her voice broke and she looked at him. “But I’m going to make a difference for Druids. I want to make sure that they—my people—are never persecuted again.”

He couldn’t let her go. Keeping the Druids safe was his job. But he couldn’t make her stay, either. Like she said, she didn’t belong here.

Merlin said, “I was never on a swim team.”

“What?”

Merlin took a shuddering breath. “I was never on a swim team. I… never lived in Ealdor. It’s my fault the dragon attacked Camelot. I’m a Druid. I’m—,” the Druid prince, he thought, but the words wouldn’t come, they stuck in his throat. “I’m not in love with Bellemistis,” he managed. He bit his lip and held onto the balcony railing. “Hell, I’m not… I like girls _and_ boys, I think. But, Morgana, more than anything, I…” He made himself meet her eyes. “I like you.”

Morgana stiffened. There it was. Merlin had laid his heart bare. “I know,” he said quietly, “that I’ve lied to you, Morgana. I wish I hadn’t. I wish… I was braver.”

Morgana stepped closer, their shoulders almost touching as they looked out over the dark courtyard together. “You don’t have to be brave, Merlin,” she whispered. “I’m going to be brave for all of us.”

Then there was a cold hand on his wet cheek and Morgana was kissing him, soft and patient, lips pressed against lips in a way that was so different from the kisses he had shared with Bellemistis, that made his broken heart swell in his chest. He put a hand to the back of her head and deepened it, and she put her arms around his neck. Then they broke apart and held each other tight. Merlin would never forget how the air smelled of rain but her hair smelled of mint, and that when he held her against him he could feel her magic burning like a bright, silver flame.

Then she broke away from him and left him standing there, the rain just starting, and it was like she took a piece of him with her. He watched her and Morgause disappear and the door closed with a soft, definitive thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho boy okay finally next chapter is gonna be part three: FAY! yes!! i am so happy. and there was a little bit of mergana. yay. finally. okay. if we all hold hands we can get through this. i am so excited. gotta write merlin's coronation!


	20. Crowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Fay

_All Druids are registered after their christening. Their Dragon name is revealed, recorded, and made public access._

* * *

 

 

The world was shining. For so long Morris had lived under his mother’s wings, an outcast. He used to trace the symbols he saw on his own skin, knowing they meant something, but not knowing _what._ And now, all around him, were people like him. Black, white, brown, their colors accented by bright, golden tattoos. The sky was gray, but for Morris, the sun was here, shining from within the Druids.

He stood beside the Lady Freya, whose own magic was most prominent on her cheeks and shoulders. Her dress was black, for mourning. They were all in mourning as they stood, facing the wooden coffin on the palace steps.

The priestesses stood on either side of the coffin, their faces hidden behind crow feather masks. Morris couldn’t see their magic except on their hands, one of the few parts of visible skin they showed.

Beside them, the only matte in a sea of brilliance, stood the Queen Hunith. Her mourning dress was hemmed in gold, and her face was uncovered.

Soon Prince Emrys would be crowned king.

* * *

 

Arthur was not speaking to his father. Even though Uther had returned Balinor’s body to the Druids, the fact that Merlin had been missing for the past few days made Arthur worried and suspicious. He kept thinking back on the photos, now a pile of ashes in his rubbish bin, and wondering if his father had seen them.

The fact the Morgana had disappeared the same night didn’t help matters. Uther paid little attention to the broadcast, his cell phone to his ear, murmuring to whom Arthur assumed was the local police. The search for the princess—along with the change in leadership just across the border—had the entire kingdom on edge. The fact that the mortals had not been invited to the coronation ceremony was only the icing on the cake.

So instead Arthur was obligated to be in the same room as his father (something he had been avoiding) to watch the Druid prince be crowned king on television, with Sir Leon acting as a sort of buffer. The few knights that weren’t on a mad search for the Lady Morgana wore suits instead of armor and sat in chairs brought into the office just for the occasion. Arthur, for his part, stood brooding against one of the bookshelves.

Soon Prince Emrys would be crowned king.

* * *

 

Morgana and Morgause were far from the Mortal Kingdom, in a pub in one of the non-united countries. Closer to the Druid Kingdom than home, and it was obvious. While there were inklings of mortal technology (the TV behind the bar, the telephone on the wall, both at least a decade old), there was a clear magical influence. The people were dressed in everything from Druid cloaks to blue jeans. The lights were not electronic, but balls of magic that the bartender relit with a snap of his fingers. There was a game in the corner that Morgana didn’t recognize, but it involved glowing eyes and a lot of raucous laughter.

Morgause tapped her on the shoulder. “You really should eat,” she said, gesturing to her plate of fries and burger. “The ketchup is really good, and we’re going to be here awhile.”

“Huh?” Morgana said. “Why?”

Morgause stuffed three fries in her mouth. “The coronation ceremony. It’s time for Emrys to show his face.”

Morgana looked at the television. Very rarely did the Druids allow camera crews beyond their borders. The coronation was one of the few exceptions in the agreement drawn up when the technology became prominent. Currently, the camera was panning slowly over the Druid nobles and a reporter was explaining who each one was.

Idly, Morgana started putting fries in her mouth and, sure, the ketchup was pretty good. The last time she had eaten burgers and fries had been with Arthur and Gwen. It felt so long ago…

Suddenly Morgana was somewhere else, looking across a table at a boy with fury in his eyes. He clenched his fists and said something, something Morgana couldn’t quite hear…

And then she was back, in the pub, with her sister. Morgause was watching her. “Another vision?” she asked gently.

Ever since her naming, visions had been coming every few hours. It was like they had opened the floodgates and twenty years of pill-suppressed magic were trying to make up for the lost time.

Morgana rubbed her eyes. “It’s all right. It wasn’t anything special.” They’re all just possibilities, she told herself. Nothing is certain.

She looked up at the TV set and started on her burger. Soon Prince Emrys would be crowned king.

* * *

 

Gwen came to Gaius, nearly pulling her hair out. “I can’t think,” she cried. “I just can’t, I’m so worried. Merlin is gone. Morgana is gone. I’m just… stressed!” She dropped into a chair at his kitchen table and looked at him forlornly. “Tell me they’re going to be okay.”

Gaius was still standing with his front door open, gaping at her. “Um,” he said. “My dear, I… don’t know.”

Gwen waited for more, but when nothing came, she sniffled and wiped at her cheeks. The television on the counter was on, but muted. “Oh, the coronation,” she said. “You know I’d nearly forgotten it was today.” She brushed a stray hair away. “I’ve been on the phone, organizing the knights and the search parties for Morgana, getting creative with where she might be.” She paused. “I’m her best friend,” she said, “and she didn’t even say goodbye to me.”

Feeling awkward, Gaius reached out to take her hand. She pulled away before he reached her.

“Neither did Merlin!” she said. “And they’re not answering my calls, or my texts, and Arthur’s shut himself away, and everyone’s _left_ me!” She grabbed at her hair again. “They’ve all left me! They’ve left me alone!”

The quiet feeling that Gaius shouldn’t watch the coronation with Gwen swelled to a shout. “Perhaps you should go home and rest,” he suggested gently.

“No, no.” She shook her head. “The coronation. Let’s watch it. It’ll… distract me.”

Oh, dear, no it won’t, Gaius thought. But he reached for the remote and turned up the volume. They sat there together, watching the small screen.

Soon Prince Emrys would be crowned king.

* * *

 

The name Merlin came from his mother. She hadn’t liked her son’s name being chosen for her. Whenever he went unhooded, away from the eyes of the public, she called him Merlin. Balinor liked it. It was common for Druid parents to choose a second name for their children, and keep their dragon names more private.

So it came to be that Emrys was the name that felt foreign, and Merlin was the name called by his parents. When it was proposed that he and the Lady Freya be betrothed, he introduced himself as Merlin, not Emrys.

But when the dragon came to deliver his Call, it did not call him Merlin. It said, “You are Emrys.”

And Merlin, alone in his chamber, playing the guitar his mother had gifted him, replied, “I am Emrys.”

The dragon was a dark thing, with scales like charcoal and eyes so black it seemed almost eyeless. When it spoke, smoke curled from its mouth. Merlin had been afraid. But the dragon spoke its Call, the language cryptic as expected, and Merlin relaxed. Until the end.

It said, “Bound to the land, when time all ends, you will stand alone, with the curse borne in your heart, and skin and blood and bone.”

And now Merlin stood in dark robes like the dragon’s scales, with gold embroidered at the neckline and cuffs. He stared at himself in the mirror, his head covered for the last time, his heart pounding, hearing only the dragon’s parting words, over and over: _the curse borne in your heart._

He was not mortal. He was Emrys.

“My lord.”

He turned, and saw in the doorway one of the priestesses in training, as marked by her gray dress. She said, “It’s time.”

He nodded. The curse borne in his heart. He could _feel_ it.

He was never mortal. He was never Merlin.

It was time for Prince Emrys to be crowned king.

* * *

 

The high priestess stood at the top of steps and blessed King Balinor’s body in the language of the dragons. Uther paid little attention. Arthur seethed. Gwen bit at her cuticle. Morgana did not blink.

Merlin, standing beside his mother the queen, watched the priestess behind her raven-feather mask sing over his father’s cloth-covered body, drizzle oil on the corpse, and bless his passage into the next world. He held his staff in his left hand. His heart sat hot in his mouth.

A lower priestess presented a flame. A commentator off-screen explained that this flame came from the first fire gifted to Druids from the dragons, that the priestesses kept burning for all eternity, and that the wood was the very wood that Balinor had sworn on when he was crowned. The high priestess placed the torch on the center of the cloth-covered corpse. The body became a roaring bonfire.

Arthur watched the Druid prince step forward as the priestess moved to stand before the fire. Emrys knelt, holding his staff for all to see.

“State your name,” the priestess said, and the microphone picked up the crackling of the flames, “before your people.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “I am Emrys,” said the prince. “Of House Dragonlord, son of Balinor, and prince of the Druids.” The jewel atop his staff shone silver.

Every single person watching, on TV and in person, thought, _it’s him._

Another priestess brought forth a piece of wood on a pillow. His father’s wood had been oak, the King of Trees. Merlin’s was elder. He grabbed the wood with his right hand and held it to his lips.

“With my magic, I will lead my people. With my blood, I will protect them. With my mind, I will unite them. With my heart, I will love them. I swear these things before the bones of my father, before the eyes of my people. I am Emrys and I swear it.”

The staff glowed silver in accord.

The piece of wood was taken away.

“Rise, King Emrys,” said the priestess. “Show your people your face.”

The Druid King rose.

He faced forward.

_Goodbye, Merlin._

He pulled back his hood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i was trying to write the chapter after this one before i posted this but i'm stuck. you've all probably figured out where this is going by now but it's like i have to cross a tiny chasm and i just can't build the right bridge. itty bitty part out of place. it's a pain.


	21. Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yeah so this took forever but i am happy with it

_From_ Mortal Humanity:

_The last war fought between the Mortals and the Druids was the Second Great Purge. Prince Mallory led the armies of his father, King Geoffrey, against the first truly unified Druid state since the last significant prophecy. It was this unification of the formerly separate magic states that prompted the mortals to strike. Since the peace, the Druids reformed their kingdom, again under the Dragonlord dynasty._

* * *

 

 

Arthur stood before the king, surrounded by the knights. They were just as stunned as he was. What would they do, Arthur wondered, if Uther decided he was a traitor? How many would follow the order? He was so numb from what had happened on screen that he almost didn’t care.

“Did you know?”

Arthur said, “No.”

Uther’s eyes were wild. “Are you lying to me?”

“I didn’t even know he was Druid, Father.” Arthur thought of the photos of Merlin and the Druid Queen. Leon was standing somewhere to the left of him, his presence like a source of heat in the room. Arthur did not look at him. He felt like radio static sounds.

“Your sister is missing,” Uther said. “And your servant has turned out to be king of our enemy. I don’t like coincidences.” He looked at Leon. “Bring Gaius here. In chains, if you must. Somehow, Emrys got past our anti-magic detection systems. He had help.” He glanced back at Arthur. “You may not leave this castle. Sir Leon, escort him to his chambers. Dismissed.”

It was a long and silent walk, and Arthur could not have spoken even if he had wanted to. Leon opened the door for him. “My lord,” he said.

Arthur went to step inside, but Leon touched his arm. “My lord,” he repeated, softer, “I’ll not say anything.”

Arthur gave a brief nod and the knight left. He stood for a long time alone in his chambers after the door was closed behind him, unable to think of anything. It was like he was stuck, replaying the moment where Emrys flipped back his hood and revealed himself to be

Merlin.

A traitor.

A liar.

Had it been a lie the whole time?

Arthur thought of everything he had ever said to Merlin about Emrys. _Not all who use magic are as evil as their prince._ _We’ll make the coward come into the light. I’d know that snake of a prince anywhere._ _I do not ally myself with demons._

He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to Merlin’s name. There were only a few text messages sent between them, as Merlin hadn’t been very good at it (the reason, now, was obvious). He wanted to call him. To talk. To say his name.

Merlin had found out his father was dead on the tarmac in front of King Uther, after spending three days in the Anglican kingdom. Merlin hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

Arthur wandered over to his bed, still staring at his phone. Every time the screen darkened he tapped it to keep it light. What if his father checked his phone? He would know he’d sent texts to Merlin—to Emrys—after the coronation. He finally tossed it onto his pillow and wished Morgana were there to talk to.

* * *

 

“You knew,” Gwen whispered. There was a broken glass on the floor beside her. She held a napkin to her bleeding fingers and kept her eyes on the TV screen, even though Merlin’s image had long since been replaced by newscasters. “You had to have known.”

“I did,” Gaius replied simply.

Her gaze shifted with such sharpness that Gaius almost jumped. “You’re a traitor,” she said, louder.

“I am.”

Gwen said, “Where is the Lady Morgana?”

Gaius paused. “I don’t know,” he replied.

She leapt to her feet. “You _liar!_ ” Gaius remained seated. “You’ve kidnapped her,” Gwen continued. “You and Merlin—Emrys—whoever he is!”

“I swear it,” Gaius said. “I hid Merlin and I protected him, but I did nothing to the Lady Morgana.”

Gwen looked ready to scream. Gaius glanced at the table to make sure there was nothing she could throw at him. She said, “Why are you still here? Why didn’t you _leave!?_ ”

Gaius paused a moment, waiting for Gwen to become less volatile. She simmered down a few degrees, but the blood in her veins was still pumping. Gaius could see it welling at the cut she had opened on her right hand.

“I’m still here,” Gaius said carefully, “because I have faith in peace.”

Gwen said, “They’ll come for you.”

“I know.”

“They’re probably on their way right now.”

“It’s certain.”

Gwen stared, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. She screamed through her teeth and twisted her stinging fingers and knocked over a chair. Finally she sat back down. The anger seemed to have left her in a rush. “Peace,” she scoffed, but it was half-hearted.

“It will come,” Gaius replied. “And not something tense and unseemly like there was between Uther and Balinor. There will be true peace. With Merlin and Arthur.”

Gwen did not meet his eyes. Her fingers had stopped bleeding. “I can help you,” she said quietly.

“It won’t matter,” Gaius replied. “The guards are already on their way, they—.”

“Not to escape,” she said. “Peace.”

Gaius’s next thought got lost on its way out. He was silent. Then, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not interested in watching two good friends become enemies,” Gwen said, finally turning to look at him. “I can help.”

Gaius hesitated. “You should go then,” he said. “You don’t want to be caught with me.”

Gwen pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll take care of that.”

* * *

 

Morgause picked broken glass out of Morgana’s cheek in front of the dirty bathroom mirror. Tens of bottles and even more glasses had shattered the moment Merlin’s face appeared on the TV screen, and the bartender was almost certain he had seen Morgana’s eyes turn gold when it happened.

Morgana didn’t care. She was numb. Even the bottle shards in her cheek were little more than cold. Merlin was Emrys. _Merlin._ Her friend. Her… something more.

A _traitor._

She thought of the kiss they had shared on the balcony and her stomach swooped so badly she doubled over. He had confessed so many secrets. So she had thought.

A _liar._

Suddenly she had a vision, of Merlin, with henna on his forehead and his staff glowing a deep, bloody red. She was wounded. He was coming for her.

Morgause pulled the last bit of glass from her cheek and Morgana was back staring at her own reflection, white-knuckled and sweating. “What did you see?” her sister asked.

Morgana was silent. Her face in the mirror was very pale, with bright red blood on her left cheek. The cuts stung. Her eyes were blue as they had ever been.

Morgause dabbed the cuts with something before covering them with a bandage she seemed to pull out of midair. “We’ll work on your control,” she assured her. “And your visions will get clearer as well.”

She looked at her sister. “Did you know?” she whispered.

“No one knew,” snapped Morgause. “But now everyone does. Emrys is a traitor, Morgana. He abandoned his people to go to Camelot and live amongst mortals.”

Morgana blinked. Her reflection blinked back. “He said the dragon was his fault. That he caused it to attack.”

Morgause was so quiet Morgana wondered if she’d even heard her, until she murmured, “He said that?”

“He did. On the balcony.” She realized that Merlin had come to that room to hold his father’s vigil.

Morgause threw the gauze she was holding at the wall. “He’s a monster!” she cried. “He’s everything Mum knew he would be! He’ll be the fall of the Druids, he’ll lead us to the gallows!” She huffed, then placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “If Emrys wants to start a war, let’s make sure he gets what he wants.”

* * *

 

King Emrys of the Druids lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Instead of moving into the old king’s chambers, the palace staff had redecorated and expanded his room. The curtains were heavy and purple, the carpets a dark blue, and the ceiling painted to change with the night and day.

The few things that had made this place truly his—few though they were—had been removed. He found himself once again thinking of Arthur’s chambers in Camelot, with its football posters and photos of friends. The palace staff had removed what little he had garnered by means of self-expression and replaced them with more scholarly, kingly items like a telescope and maps. He thought longingly of his guitar, back in Camelot with Gaius.

It was probably for the best. Merlin had played guitar. Emrys was a king. Emrys had musicians to play for him.

Soon he would have to get out of bed and stand before his father’s mages and the nobles and announce dismissals and appointments for his own reign. The only real plan he had was to put Freya in charge of, well, everything. He didn’t think there was any need to dismiss any of Balinor’s mages, at least not right away. Oh, and he should discuss a political treaty with the Anglican Kingdom. After seeing the coronation broadcast, Uther was probably mobilizing troops. It would be good to have an official ally.

Thinking of Uther made Merlin think of Arthur. God he missed him. He really, truly missed him. How did Arthur feel after seeing his face beneath the hood? Did he think back to their hunt for Nimueh? To that first chase in the forest, nearly a year ago? Or did he think of Merlin, of their banter and friendship, of the promise to teach Arthur guitar and the teasing about Gwen?

He probably thought it had all been a ruse, Merlin thought bitterly. Thought him a liar. And he was a liar.

Merlin was a liar.

There was almost certainly going to be war. He had no idea how to prevent it. Hell, he had _caused_ it.

Was Emrys a liar too?

There was a knock at the door.

He got up and almost pulled his hood up. But his king’s robes had no hood. He glanced at himself in the mirror—the henna markings drawn by the high priestess were starting to flake off. The stain would stay for many weeks. His king’s robes were black and gold-trimmed, with bright gold symbols embroidered on the sleeves and breast.

He opened the door, and there stood one of his old servants. “ _Seigneur,_ ” he said with a bow. “They’re ready for you.”

Merlin nodded. He glanced behind him, toward his crown, which sat on its pillow beside the mirror. It was spindly and gold, with gems of obsidian and diamond. He recalled the weight of it from when the priestess had placed it upon his head. He left without it.

King Emrys walked to his father’s study. The king’s study. There was a long table, and bookshelves all around. It looked a lot like King Uther’s study, he realized, except instead of a television there was a Druid _écouteur,_ a sort of magic radio, and several quills and parchments that wrote on their own instead of a computer.

The room had many windows, but night had fallen, and the candles were lit. The Druid council was seated around the table, and rose to their feet upon his entrance. “ _Seigneur,_ ” they said in near unison.

Merlin felt naked without his hood. He stepped to his place at the table’s throne, but did not sit. He waved a hand, and the mages were seated. There was silence as they waited for him to speak.

Merlin knew these mages. He had sat in on many of his father’s council meetings. First, there was the High Priestess, Adele, who had crowned him king that morning. Instead of her ceremonial mask, she wore an airy, black veil that stopped at her nose.

Lord Julien, of House Normande, sat further down, looking over-dressed in his forest-green cape and gold jewelry. His house was one that had occasionally married into the royal family, and they had been rather… insulted that Balinor had married a mortal woman. Lord Julien had taken over as head of his house after the death of his mother, Lady Elisabeth. He was tall, gangly, and with enough beard to make him almost look his age. He wore glasses modified to be in Druid fashion. He was a powerful mage by blood, and talented by nature.

Next to him was a mage from America, Gail Madison, without title. She wore a suit. Merlin had always found her a bit unsettling. He was fairly certain she and Lord Julien were seeing each other.

Directly across from Merlin was Ser Sigeweard, captain of the Druid knights. He trained the battle mages and planned many of the winning battle strategies during the Second Great Purge. He had served Balinor’s father, and held much respect in the Druid Kingdom and beyond. His skin was covered in dark black runes tattooed by either the priestesses or himself. He had a jagged scar from a dragon’s claw, because “only the dragons could touch him.” As a child, Merlin had found him terrifying. Now, seeing the old _chevalier_ fix him with marble-blue eyes bulging under a protruding forehead, Merlin felt the same.

Beside him was Lady Godiva, a monstrously beautiful woman that had been, Merlin had been told, the favorite to wed King Balinor. She wore robes of silver and spikes of dark metal in her hair. She propped her chin up on her hand, and on every finger she wore a large, glittering ring. One would have thought her vain, but Merlin knew each stone enhanced magical ability. She was the only other person in the room to be given a staff by the priestesses.

Then there was Ser Cenric. He was the most well-traveled of the council. He and Ser Howldred had been closer than brothers, and two of the strongest mages in the kingdom. His eyes were dark, as was his skin. He shaved his head every morning with the jewel-encrusted knife that Howldred had gifted him.

And, finally, at Merlin’s right, sat Freya. Bless Freya, may she be ever prosperous. His only tether in the tumultuous world of politics. She met his eyes, and Merlin’s nerves eased.

“ _Bonsoir,_ ” he greeted. These meetings always took place in French. “I look to you, my friends, to guide me.”

“We look to you, our king, to lead us,” they replied.

Merlin took a deep breath. “I’ve only just become king,” he said, “and you on my father’s council served him well. I hope that you will continue to do so for me. Especially in the times ahead.” He paused a moment.

A moment too long. “ _Seigneur,_ ” said Lord Julien. “What happened in the mortal kingdom? Is it true you spent the last year living in King Uther’s castle?” He leaned forward. “As a servant?”

Merlin’s shaky confidence crumbled. The other mages leaned in. “Y-yes,” he said.

Their reactions were not good. Ser Sigeweard said, “A king that has served the enemy. I thought I’d die before I’d see the day.”

“It will appear that your loyalties are divided, Emrys, _seigneur,_ ” said Godiva. She might have been a little amused.

“His loyalties are _not_ divided,” Freya snapped. “He is our king!”

Adele was noticeably silent.

“Uther wants war,” said Gail. “Will he go to war with Uther?” She looked at Merlin. “ _Will_ you?”

“He will,” Cenric rumbled. “He is Balinor’s son.”

“And that _mortal’s,_ ” Julien sneered.

“How _dare_ you!?” cried Freya.

“Stop!” Merlin said. He could feel the foundations on which he stood starting to quake and shift. “How dare you speak of the queen dowager like that? King Balinor’s ashes have barely cooled and you speak of his wife as if she were vulgar!” He fumed, but he was scared. “Another word against my mother and I will have you off my council. Is that understood?”

The room was silent. Merlin dropped into his seat. This was bad. His heart was pounding in his ears, but he had to remain calm. His own council, against him. “I will speak on my time in the mortal kingdom. And if you still question my loyalty, I will step down.”

He waited. They remained silent.

He said, “I went to spy.”

Freya’s expression changed. Merlin ignored it in favor of looking in the spaces between councilmembers.

“King Balinor sent me to learn all I could from the mortals. I got very lucky, and earned a position in the royal household, directly serving their crown prince.”

Merlin paused again. It was still quiet, but their eyes were fixed on him, as was every jewel on Lady Godiva’s hand. His blood was running hot with his lies.

“I learned,” he said, stronger now, “that King Uther is an evil man. I watched him let my father _die_ for his twisted and backwards morals. I do not want a war but he has pushed us to it. He pushed Balinor to send _me,_ his own son, into the heart of the enemy as a spy.

“But Arthur,” he continued, “is not like his father. He does not want war. He does not see everything other than mortal as unnatural and dangerous. With him, we can achieve peace.”

For a moment, the room remained quiet. Then Lady Godiva shifted. “I see,” she said. “I understand.” She looked around the room. “He is loyal.”

The tension seemed to break. Freya’s whole posture relaxed. Cenric nodded. Sigeweard sniffed and looked at the parchment in front of him. Gail glanced at Julien. Julien scowled. The priestess Adele remained silent.

Merlin felt the weight lift from his shoulders. “Thank you. Now. Uther is almost certainly going to declare war. We need to be prepared.”

**Author's Note:**

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